Calling for Backup

Heavy boots crunched against the gravel along the side passage. A uniform stepped through the open gate, his tactical belt creaking under the sun. Officer Miller adjusted his cap, his gaze sweeping across the wet flagstones, the floating sandal, and the dripping figure clinging to the pool edge.

Karen splashed against the tile coping, her orange blouse sticking to her ribs.

“Officer, arrest her,” Karen barked, her voice raspy from pool water. “She assaulted me.”

The officer ignored the woman in the water and stopped three feet from the lounger. He brought his hand up in a sharp salute before dropping it to his side.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Bennett,” Officer Miller said.

“I did not realize you moved into the house already.”

Alicia remained standing on the dry deck, her posture straight and relaxed.

“Hello, Miller,” Alicia said. “I brought the closing papers yesterday.”

Karen gasped, her mouth hanging open as pool water trickled off her chin onto her collar.

“Miller, what are you doing?” Karen splattered, slapping a wet palm against the tile.

“I called dispatch ten minutes ago. I am the board president.”

Miller turned his head toward the pool, his eyes cold under his cap brim.

“Ms. Whitmore, Ms. Bennett is the majority shareholder of Crestline Management,” Miller said.

“She owns the parent firm that holds your neighborhood service contract.”

Karen’s shoulders sank into the pool water. Her fingers slipped two inches down the wet border before her nails caught the grout.

“She holds our contract?” Karen whispered.

“She owns the firm,” Miller said. “Including the security agreement that pays my salary.”

Miller turned back to Alicia, pulling a leather notebook and pen from his breast pocket.

“Do you want me to file a report for trespass, ma’am?” Miller asked.

Alicia gestured toward the broken latch with two fingers.

“Document the latch, the unauthorized entry, and the physical grab,” Alicia said.

“Notify the board vice president to schedule an emergency meeting tonight.”

“Right away, ma’am,” Miller said.

Alicia picked up the skimmer net resting against the stone wall. She handed the pole to the guard.

“Retrieve her clipboard from the bottom of the deep end,” Alicia said.

Miller took the net, lowered the mesh six feet down, and scooped the metal clipboard off the plaster bottom. Water poured from the clamp as he lifted it onto the flagstones. He laid the soaked paperwork near the gate alongside Karen’s floating sandal.

Karen dragged herself up the stainless ladder, her capri pants translucent and heavy with water. She reached the top step, her bare heels squeaking on the stone. She picked up her single shoe, clutched her sodden clipboard against her ribs, and stepped through the open gate without looking back.

Miller closed the side gate behind her, lifting the latch to rest in its slot. He turned and gave a brief nod toward the patio.

“I will monitor the street for the rest of the shift, Ms. Bennett,” Miller said.

“Thank you, Miller,” Alicia said.

She walked across the dry flagstones, picked up her glass of water from the table, and sat back down on the lounger. She unfolded her towel across her lap. With one hand, she slid her dark sunglasses back over her eyes and settled into the afternoon sun.