“Probably buried.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not necessarily.”
The surveyor looked toward a shallow drainage strip beside the driveway.
“The original plat says one should be somewhere near here.”
He tapped the tablet.
“I’ll probe for it.”
That was when the blonde woman arrived.
She came out of her house carrying a black folder and walking quickly.
Her short blonde hair moved in the breeze.
She wore a beige blazer over a white blouse, navy trousers, and white shoes that were entirely wrong for walking through wet summer grass.
Her face was already tense.
“What is this?”
The homeowner turned.
“Survey.”
“I can see that.”
She pointed toward the white line.
“What is that doing there?”
The surveyor answered calmly.
“Temporary boundary marking.”
The woman looked at him.
“Who authorized you to paint community property?”
The surveyor paused.
“This is private property.”
She looked toward the homeowner.
“You called him?”
“Yes.”
“Without notifying me?”
The homeowner frowned.
“I don’t need your permission to survey my property.”
“You do when the work affects a neighboring lot.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t.”
The woman looked toward the surveyor.
“Is that true?”
He smiled professionally.
“I was retained by this property owner to locate his deeded boundary.”
“I do not need authorization from the neighboring owner to take measurements from public areas or from the client’s property.”
The woman’s eyes moved to the stakes.
“This line is wrong.”
The surveyor looked at the tablet.
“What information are you using?”
“The existing fence.”
He glanced toward it.
“The fence is not on the deed line.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No.”
The answer was polite.
Definite.
The blonde woman stiffened.
“I have lived here eighteen years.”
The surveyor nodded.
“That does not make the fence a legal monument.”
The homeowner looked away so she would not see his reaction.
The woman noticed anyway.
“This is not funny.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
She pointed toward the survey paint.
“You’re suggesting nearly three feet of my property belongs to him.”
The surveyor corrected her.
“I’m saying the recorded boundary appears to be approximately three feet east of where the existing improvements suggest people assumed it was.”
“That is not possible.”
“Why?”
“Because my driveway has been there since before he bought his house.”
The homeowner answered:
“That doesn’t mean the driveway is on your property.”
She turned toward him.
“So now you’re claiming my driveway?”
“No.”
“I’m claiming my property.”
“That sounds exactly the same.”
“It isn’t.”
The surveyor stepped between them slightly.
“Let’s keep this factual.”
The woman looked at him.
“Fine.”
She opened her folder.
Inside were printed diagrams.
Committee records.
Old landscaping approvals.
A neighborhood map.
She pulled one out.
“This is the official community map.”
The surveyor studied it.
Then smiled faintly.
“This isn’t a boundary survey.”
“It shows the lots.”
“It shows approximate lots.”
“It’s official.”
“It’s a marketing site plan.”
The woman’s expression hardened.
“No.”
The surveyor pointed toward the lower corner.
“Conceptual use only.”
“Not for legal description.”
“It says it right there.”
The homeowner leaned closer.
It did.
Small print.
The blonde woman immediately switched pages.