That changed the situation.
He called police again.
Same department.
Different officer.
The box contents were unknown.
The homeowner had not ordered it.
No tracking number available.
The officer asked:
“Could somebody have sent you a gift?”
“Possible.”
“Could she think it belongs to the association?”
“Possible.”
“You want us to contact her?”
“Yes.”
Police did.
According to the follow-up note, the HOA President claimed she believed the package contained “unauthorized commercial promotional materials” and had removed it as part of an HOA compliance review.
When asked where it was, she said it had been discarded.
The homeowner read that line three times.
Discarded.
Again.
Two packages.
Both gone.
No contents returned.
No evidence of disposal.
He expanded the camera system.
One unit watched the sidewalk.
Another covered the driveway.
A third pointed toward the community entrance visible from his upstairs window.
He also signed up for delivery alerts from every carrier.
Then he called a friend who worked in corporate security.
“I need you to tell me whether I’m becoming paranoid.”
The friend listened.
Then said:
“You're becoming methodical.”
“Same thing with better spreadsheets?”
“Sometimes.”
“What bothers you?”
“The unordered package.”
“Me too.”
“You think she knew what was in it?”
“I don't know.”
“Good answer.”
The homeowner sighed.
“I hate good answers.”
“Everybody does.”
Over the next month, four more packages disappeared.
Two ordinary purchases.
One replacement phone case.
One package he did not recognize.
The HOA President appeared in footage three times.
A man wearing a gray maintenance uniform took the fourth.
The uniform had no company logo.
He drove a dark blue sedan.
License plate partly visible.
The homeowner gave everything to police.
Now the detective assigned to the reports became interested.
Detective Laura Martinez had spent twelve years investigating property crimes, fraud, and organized retail theft.
She watched the videos.
Then asked:
“Your HOA President has taken how many?”
“Five clearly documented.”
“And claims she discarded them?”
“Yes.”
“You believe that?”
“I believe that’s what she said.”
Martinez smiled.
“You really work compliance.”
“Unfortunately.”
She replayed the maintenance-uniform video.
“Know him?”
“No.”
“HOA contractor?”
“Not that I recognize.”
“You ever see the car before?”
The homeowner opened another folder.
“Three times.”
Martinez looked over.
He showed street-camera stills.
Same blue sedan.
Different days.
Usually twenty to thirty minutes before a package arrived.
The detective stopped smiling.