“What the hell?”
Then I slowly looked toward Denise’s house.
Her curtains were closed.
The trash cans had been annoying.
The hose had been childish.
This was something else entirely.
Someone had deliberately ruined my car.
I called the police immediately.
An officer walked around the vehicle taking pictures.
“Do you have security cameras?”
“No.”
“Did anyone see anything?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Do you have evidence connecting anyone to this?”
I glanced toward Denise’s house.
“No. That’s the problem.”
The officer nodded sympathetically.
Without witnesses or footage, there wasn’t much they could do.
I felt ridiculous.
Someone had been standing on my property long enough to cover an entire car in paint, yet I couldn’t prove who had done it.
Later that day, I saw Denise near the fence.
I almost ignored her.
Instead, I stopped.
“Someone painted my car last night.”
Her eyes widened dramatically.
