Nia sent the email at 8:13 p.m.
At 8:29, the management company replied.
At 8:41, Pamela replied separately.
The difference between the messages interested Nia.
Management wrote:
Thank you for notifying us. We are reviewing the matter and will preserve available access records.
Pamela wrote:
There is no reason to characterize this as anything more than a database error.
Nia read the sentence twice.
Then she closed her laptop.
Because sometimes the person who most desperately wanted something to remain a misunderstanding was the person who already understood exactly what had happened.
The next morning, Nia met her neighbor.
She was standing in the driveway examining a scratch on one of the newly delivered kitchen panels when a woman in gardening gloves walked across the lawn from the house next door.
She appeared to be in her sixties.
Silver hair.
Wide straw hat.
A cup of coffee in one hand.
“You must be Nia.”
Nia smiled cautiously.
“I am.”
“I’m Helen Ward.”
They shook hands.
Helen pointed toward the neighboring home.
“I’m the one with the hydrangeas Pamela hates.”
Nia laughed despite herself.
“That tells me more than your address would.”
Helen smiled.
“Good.”
Then her expression changed.
“I heard about yesterday.”
Nia’s smile disappeared.
“That was fast.”
“Bellweather is expensive enough to have gates and small enough to have gossip.”
Nia leaned against the driveway wall.
Helen lowered her voice.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
Helen studied her.
“You don’t look convinced.”
Nia appreciated the question more than she expected.
“I’m angry.”
“That sounds more accurate.”
Helen took a sip of coffee.
Then she said, “Pamela told three people last night that you followed a resident through the gate.”
Nia looked at her.
“I used my code.”
“I assumed.”
“She told people I became aggressive with security?”
Helen grimaced.
“That part too.”
Nia looked toward the street.
“What else?”
Helen hesitated.
“That she had no way to know who you were.”
Nia laughed softly.
“She could’ve asked management.”
“Yes.”
“She could’ve looked at the closing notice.”
“Yes.”
“She could’ve called Marcus.”
“Yes.”
“She could’ve looked at my identification.”
Helen nodded.
“Yes.”
Nia looked back at her.
“So why didn’t she?”
Helen was quiet for a moment.
Then she said something Nia had not expected.
“You’re not the first person she’s decided didn’t belong.”
Nia’s posture changed.
“What do you mean?”
Helen looked toward the road, making sure nobody was approaching.
“Last winter, the Garcias had family visiting from San Antonio. Pamela made their nephew wait at the gate for forty minutes because she claimed his vehicle looked commercial.”
“Was it?”
“A pickup truck with a ladder rack.”
Nia frowned.
Helen continued.
“Before that, there was a home health aide who came every morning for Mr. Benton. Pamela kept questioning her because the guest pass was issued weekly instead of daily.”
“What happened?”
“Mr. Benton finally complained.”
“And?”
“Nothing, really.”