Archive of Our Own ^beta

The problems began before my new house was even completed.

I’d been saving for a house for a while, and I found the opportunity on what was currently the edge of town. Developments there were complicated - there had been three farms, then the middle one was split up to sell to the neighbours with just the old farmhouse and barn left as a residence. Then two rival developers had bought the farms and contracted the same construction firm to put up houses on their subdivisions.

Right around the middle of this, the farm house that sat on the boundary burned down. It was probably an accident, the house was old, but the developers were making nasty noises in the press about how ‘maybe’ their rival had been trying to acquire the plot.

After I saw that, I did some poking around, then called the construction firm. They were more than happy to accept a third contract which wouldn’t require them to move their tools more than fifty yards from where they were already working.

“I’ll cut you a deal,” their agent offered. “Right now, if we move equipment from one site to the next we have to divert around the main road - there’s no easement across the boundary. If you don’t mind us putting a temporary road across your plot, it’ll save us time and we’ll build your house at cost.”

The owners were more than happy to sell up. The house had been empty for years and they had insurance money anyway. By the time we closed the sale, I’d spent a couple of afternoons with the construction company’s architect, modifying one of their cookie-cutter template houses into something larger and tailored to my needs, while still fitting in with the look of the developments.

The result was wider, with a third reception area where other houses had their garage, and the ‘front’ facing a backyard that was right on the boundary between the two subdivisions. The temporary roadway was just south of the house, with space for a pool beyond it - all this would be enclosed in a low brick wall with gates leading onto the streets there. Once the construction was done, their road would be turned into a nicely paved surface I could use as a patio or open up for additional parking if I really needed it.

The north side of the house faced the main road, and had the official access, plus my mail-box. The house extended back through a workshop - okay, more of a man-cave - and then my garages, with a nice paved front yard that would be my actual parking. There was just enough of a side-alley to get cars through to the back with care.

I was very happy with what they were doing and I got into the habit of dropping by once a week to look at the house once they started construction. Not going onto the plot itself where they were working, but just taking a look and snapping photos for a record of how my future home was growing.

The day they started roofing, I saw a blonde woman in her forties on site. No helmet, no visibility-vest. I didn’t get the impression that the foreman was happy about it and he seemed very relieved to see me off on the road watching. He pointed over at me and the woman turned before bee-lining in my direction. Behind her, the foreman gave me an apologetic shrug and got back to work, presumably glad he wasn’t having to herd a safety hazard any more.

“Hello,” the woman sing-songed.

I tucked my phone away. “Evening.”

“I understand that you’ve bought this house!” she exclaimed. Not asking, I got the impression she didn’t ask questions, just made statements.

“Yes,” I said shortly, not feeling the need to explain all the details to her.

“I’m looking at moving into this area myself!” she said brightly.

“I suppose we will be neighbours then.” I didn’t add ‘unfortunately’ out loud, but I thought it.

She eyed me with a predatory smile. “Well, that’s a thing… It’s such a lovely house - the design, the location…”

“Thank you.”

“I’d like to buy it.”

“What?”

She leant forwards. “It’s perfect! Whatever you paid for it, plus all the other costs.”

I was still baffled, but I wanted to be clear. “That’s generous. And thank you for the praise, but I don’t want to sell. I paid for this house because I want it.”

“Alright! Plus ten percent!”

She hadn’t even asked what I paid for it in the first place. Honestly, I could have held out for more, then taken the profit and got myself another house but I was invested now in the house. I’d been anticipating it for months now. “Look, the builders are reasonable people. They haven’t finished all the houses, you could ask them to modify one of the houses to fit your needs the way I did.”

“It wouldn’t be here, though!” she insisted. Turning, she gestured towards the buildings south of us. A number of larger buildings were being set up there, various communal buildings serving one or another of the subdivisions. A pool. A community building. A few others. “Right at the heart of the community!”

“That’s true,” I agreed. “But the more you praise my house, the more I like it and the more I don’t want to sell. I’m sorry, Ms…”

“Collins,” she said, sharper now. “Mrs Barbara Collins.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mrs Barbara Collins. But I don’t want to sell. I’m sure you can get something just as nice built on one of the other lots.”

“I can offer more,” she insisted as I turned back to my car.

I paused, then smiled politely back over my shoulder. “Thanks, but no thanks, Mrs Collins.”

That was the first incident. Odd, but I figured that settled it.

A week later, I got a letter forwarded from the construction company from Mrs Collins. She made another offer, quite a bit higher than everything I’d paid for the house, land and all the other costs. More than the ten percent offer that she’d made.

I sent a polite but firm refusal, wishing her well in her house-hunting. This time there was no further letter. I thought - again - that I was done with Mrs Collins. And, for a while, I was right.

Over the next few months, houses were completed. Mine was neither first nor last - the back passage linking the two subdivisions was too useful and finishing that would wait until one side was completely handed off. But the house itself was done several months before that and I started moving my possessions in, eager to stop paying rent on my current apartment.

The day I was finally moving in, I arrived and found a fat letter in my mailbox on the main street. While waiting for the van with my remaining possessions, I opened it up in the kitchen. It was a welcome pack from the Golden Hill Homeowner Association, detailing their rules and fees. There was a thick booklet of bylaws, a map and a cover letter - the only part I read.

The president who had signed the letter was Brenda Michaels, with a full-color picture of her head and shoulders on the cover letter: a blonde woman not quite in middle-age, very much the same mold as Barbara Collins. Golden Hill was the subdivision to the south-west of my house. I wasn’t sure how they’d had time to form a HOA yet, but I wasn’t interested. I dropped the package into a drawer when the van arrived and got on with the productive work of getting furnishings into the right rooms.

That evening, with my first meal cooked in the kitchen inside my belly, I opened the back door to take a photo of the state of my back yard. The pool would have to wait until no one was using the route before I had that built.

When I opened the door, a packet that had been wedged into the crack between door and frame fell onto the porch. I picked it up and ripped open the envelope.

Another HOA welcome pack? Had someone not realized that this was the same property? Then I saw the face of Barbara Collins, their president. Wait… she wasn’t the president, was she?

I took it back to the kitchen and cleared the table of my dishes so I could compare them. The second package was from the Greenfield Homeowner Association, which matched the other subdivision. So they each had their own HOA? Although if my own backyard was the only connection, and one that would be closed as soon as the construction company finished and their temporary access lapsed, I suppose it made some sense.

Still, I wasn’t interested in joining either of them. My house was in the same general style as the neighbours, but that was the only nod I planned to make to conformity. I’d heard too many stories about HOA overreach to want to be part of them. If someone’s going to be a good neighbour, they don’t need a HOA to do that. If they’re not going to be a good neighbour, why give them a chance at having power to apply that maliciously?

I slung them back on the drawer, with a vague idea of emailing them later to let them know I wasn’t a member. It had been a long day.

To be totally fair, I did forget about that. Unpacking took up my next few days, as well as getting back to work. Other paperwork landed on top of the welcome packs and, as they say, out of sight is out of mind.

Later that month I ran into Barbara Collins again, entirely by accident. I’d just made a grocery run and was unloading my trolley into the back of my car when a pearly-white SUV pulled smoothly into the slot next to me. The door opened and she slithered out, in a ruby blouse and yoga pants.

“Mr Kinnison,” she said, apparently surprised.

I gave her a nod. “Mrs Collins. I hope you found a suitable house in the area?”

“I’m down the street from you,” she told me, lips tightening. “We had to make some… compromises.” She clearly wasn’t happy about it.

“Well, that’s often the case. If you decided to take it then it’s presumably good enough,” I shrugged.

“And you are settling in,” Barbara said, in a snippy fashion.

I nodded, putting the last bag into the back of my car. “Yes, I have some contractors due to do some finishing work next week.”

Specifically, this was the people installing my pool. The builders had let me know that they didn’t need my yard any more as an access route. They’d fitted the gates before leaving and even sent me a nice card for helping them. I’m not sure if the developers had got that courtesy or not.

Barbara opened her mouth to say something, but then another SUV (this one a glossy black) pulled over, blocking us both in, as well as obstructing anyone else trying to use this parking rank. The driver lowered her window and looked out. “Why Barbara, fancy running into you here!”

“Brenda,” Barbara said in the same tone that one says ‘You killed my dog and stole my car’. “Darling. What brings you here?”

“Just shopping for our welcome party,” the other woman told her brightly. “And is this your husband?” Something told me she knew perfectly well I wasn’t.

“Mr Kinnison is one of our neighbourhood,” Barbara declared in a possessive tone. “And how is your husband? Ed, wasn’t it?”

Brenda, who I now recognised as the other HOA president, bared her teeth in a social snarl… something that could be called a smile. “Coping without the children, our old house, the alimony… and me. Or so I assume.”

Charming, I thought and slammed the back of my car closed with perhaps a little more force than necessary.  I hoped that by the time I’d returned the trolley that they’d be done with their little spat, but no such luck.  I returned just in time to hear them comparing their children’s latest extra-curricular achievements in a challenging fashion.

“Ms Michaels,” I asked politely. “Would you mind moving back a little so I can pull out?”

“Just give me a couple more minutes,” she said vaguely, far more focused on Barbara than myself.

I got back in my car and waited. And waited. And waited.

Ten minutes later, still blocked in from behind, the car in front of me left and I was able to escape by driving forwards through their slot. My last sight of the two blondes still had them locked in their points-scoring.

This, I thought, did not bode well for any future interactions between their two Homeowner Associations. It was a good thing I wasn’t involved.

I really should have realized I was tempting fate.

The next strike was a letter that was - again - jammed between my backdoor and the door-frame. A manila envelope with my name and addressed to a house number on Greenfield Avenue, the street on the Greenfield development that I bordered.

I tossed it onto my desk to check later, as I had work to do. My pool was still under construction, so I needed to get my own job dealt with.

Several hours later, after clearing through my emails and other caseload, I took a break and went to sit where I could watch the pool construction with a cold drink and check this mysterious letter. I cut the envelope open and found a two page letter on Greenfield HOA headed paper, with an admittedly tasteful green ink.

According to the letter, I was informed that as part of the Greenfield HOA I was delinquent on two months of dues. In addition, I hadn’t installed a mailbox which they warned was a USPS violation. I was cited for the dues, a hundred dollar fine, with another one hundred dollars each month I defaulted, and a two hundred dollar fine for the lack of a mailbox. This would not escalate like the other fine because if I didn’t install a compliant mailbox in the next thirty days, the HOA would install one and bill me for the full cost.

The signature was large and flamboyant, but also illegible. Considerately, the name and titles below were typed neatly: Barbara Collins. President of the Greenfield Homeowner Association.

I finished my drink, then read the letter again. No, I’d read it right the first time.

Well, this was going to be fun. I gave the workers a wave and went back inside, put the glass by the sink and dug out the HOA welcome packets I’d previously tucked away. The Greenfield HOA bylaws were impenetrable legalese, but I did eventually find the section about fines. They looked like they were consistent with the letter, assuming I was parsing the wording correctly.

I unfolded the map, which outlined the entire Greenfield development and adjacent property. I followed the line of the boundary with Golden Hills down to the main road and found my house. On the map, the red line marking the extent of the Greenfield HOA included my lot.

Next, I opened the Golden Hills HOA welcome pack and checked their map side-by-side. Their map showed the same line except for one key difference. Their map claimed that my house and the entire lot were under their authority.

I refilled my glass, drank the contents, considering my options. I was pretty sure that I was under no obligation to either Homeowner Association, but being pretty sure might not be good enough. I was going to need a lawyer, which was an unfortunate expense. And if this went to court, that could get expensive even if I eventually won. And if I ran out of money, I might not be able to win. There was no way I could compete financially with someone funded by over a hundred other homeowners.

Then I remembered a childhood story. A story in a story, in fact. Of how a small man faced by two giants turned them against each other, using them to defeat each other rather than fighting them himself.

The next day, I went and got copies of the letters, the original cover letters and the maps, then headed to the county office and asked about the registration documents for both Associations. It turned out that both developers had required everyone buying a house in their subdivision to join a ‘suitable Homeowner Association’. Barbara Collins and Brenda Michaels had each stepped in to form a HOA, but there was no specific legal tie between them.

The construction company remembered me and were more than happy to email me a copy of their maps, which made it clear my house was a third, separate development independent of the obligations to join an HOA. That took me from being ninety percent sure of my position to ninety-nine. I was still going to want a lawyer for that last one percent, but I’d prefer to wait for at least one more paycheck. Preferably two. I had a pool to pay for.

When I got back home, I checked my mailbox and there was a second manila email. I opened it right away.

Golden Hill Homeowner Association had gilt ink on their letterhead, rather than green. Brenda Michaels had signed at the bottom, and unlike the other letter, this time there was a second signature, from a vice president called Karen Bennett. Her signature was legible, unlike Brenda’s or Barbara’s. And at least they had the right address.

The letter didn’t ask for my manager and it was at least slightly more polite than Barbara had been. It was a ‘gentle reminder’ that I was required to pay dues to the HOA. I wasn’t being fined, yet, but I was warned that this could happen in the future. In the meantime, I was being denied access to HOA resources until I paid the owed dues - no use of the tennis courts, no right to book rooms at the community centre for private events, etc.

This made things a little easier, to my mind. Now I had clear evidence of both Homeowner Associations claiming I was a member.

I drafted the replies carefully. I wrote the Greenfield one first. I explained that the address they cited didn’t exist, and gave my property address, which they could use to contact me. I informed them that I had a legitimate mailbox by the entrance to my property on the main road and therefore that there was no need for them to fit one, and the fine of two hundred dollars was invalid.

Then I got to the real meat. I enclosed a copy of the cover letter from the Golden Hills HOA, as well as their map. I pointed out that while I understood that HOA boundaries could overlap in some situations (I’d done some cursory research and, my god, why would anyone buy a house in that sort of situation?!) but that I couldn’t be part of both developments, and therefore couldn’t be obligated to join both Golden Hills and Greenfield.

Then I wrote the letter to Golden Hills, copying the last part across and switching the names - enclosing the Greenfield welcome letter and map. I confirmed that I was aware that as I wasn’t part of their HOA, I understood that I couldn’t use their community resources unless specifically invited to - except the easement to use their streets as access if needed, a legal remnant of the temporary road used by the construction company.

I posted both letters to the respective HOA offices, and for completeness emailed copies to them as well.

The first response came from Brenda Michaels, a syrupy email that acknowledged that I was correct that I was only obligated to one HOA, but stating clearly that she understood that claims by Greenfield were confusing the situation. She stated her intention to address the matter directly, but warned that unless I made good the dues in the next thirty days, fines would begin to accumulate at twenty-five dollars for every unpaid monthly dues, per month of delinquency. That didn’t sound as high as the Greenfield fines until you realized that each month the amount of the fines added to my arrears would be increasing rapidly.

Barbara Collins’ response was a letter, this time correctly addressed. It acknowledged that the mailbox infraction was being waived. Note, not dismissed as incorrect, just waived. She didn’t admit fault, just ‘letting me off’.

She was just as sure as Brenda Michaels that I fell under her HOA, and she included a copy of a formal cease and desist letter which the Greenfield HOA had sent to Golden Hills, ordering them to stop billing me for HOA dues.

Brenda’s cease and desist letter instructing Greenfield to cease harassment of me for dues arrived less than a week later. The text was almost identical and I remember wondering if they’d used the same legal firm.

My replies were polite. In each case, I advised them that I was continuing to receive bills for dues from the other HOA. I stressed that I was unwilling to pay both, and asked that any fines for non-payment be suspended until this was resolved, at which point I could reclaim any erroneous payments. I was careful not to say that I was actually paying the other HOA, but that last part gave the impression that there might be. I made a point of copying this to each member of the respective boards as well.

Each board sent me emails by the end of the week, agreeing to suspend any fines pending resolution of the issue, although they specified I would remain liable for paying any dues once their rival dropped their territorial claim on me.

I figured that either they would find out the truth and drop the entire matter, butt heads passive-aggressively until the end of time, or take it to civil court. At which point, without needing to retain a lawyer of my own, I would probably be sub-poenaed or otherwise able to provide my side of the story, backed up by the documentation that either of them could have had for asking.

The next month, my pool was complete and I paid the contractors. I made a note to contact a lawyer the next month to be sure that I was on firm legal ground.

I was beginning to think that it might be better, rather than just waiting, to let both HOAs know I’d investigated and send them the actual documentation, once I’d verified that I was right. I hadn’t exactly had sleepless nights over the matter, but I could see it getting ugly if they wasted money on a civil case over something that could be so easily handled. If they argued I had withheld the facts, I might not be entirely without blame.

In the meantime, I had a new pool! And that meant a pool party, with some friends. I hadn’t had a housewarming yet, so this was a chance to show both off.

It wasn’t anything fancy. Burgers and hot dogs grilled in my kitchen, since I didn’t have a grill. A laptop and some speakers playing rock music at what I considered a reasonable volume - barely audible from the far end of the pool and not loud enough to interfere in conversation up on the porch.

I was just considering a dip in the pool now that everyone had food and seemed to be enjoying themselves when there was a loud “Mr Kinnison!” from the west gate.

I squinted through my sunglasses and saw a blonde at the gate. Brenda, presumably.

Ewan laughed and said: “Teacher’s onto you, Ray!”

“Yeah, yeah.” I gave the interruption a ‘wait one’ gesture and went up to the porch, to replace my sunglasses with my actual prescription glasses. I also tucked my phone into my backpocket, and quietly set it to record. I didn’t have any particular reason to suspect trouble, but in general it seemed best to be cautious around anyone speaking in that sharp, authoritarian tone.

“Good afternoon,” I greeted her once I reached the gate. “Something the matter?”

“Mr Kinnison,” she repeated. “I will remind you that under the HOA’s bylaws, you’re expected to give at least two week’s notice of any gathering of over ten people. Particularly if it involves a pool, a barbecue or anything that could lead to accidents.”

I couldn’t help myself. “I will look out for that reminder then. When should I expect it?”

“I’m reminding you now!” Brenda snapped. “And besides that, not only is your music at an unacceptable volume, you should consider the type of music you’re playing! The lyrics are no example to young people in the neighbourhood.” She held up her phone, which had some decibel measuring app running. The bars were barely twitching.

I will admit, the music was currently playing the Masochism Tango, so some of the lyrics might be a bit much for anyone without a sense of humor. “It’s not exactly rap glorifying drug-dealing and prostitution,” I pointed out. “And setting that aside, I’m not part of your HOA so your regulations don’t apply to me.”

Her lips tightened. “Mr Kinnison, if you don’t turn off that music and at least move your party indoors and away from the pool, I will be forced to file a complaint.”

“No one’s forcing you,” I told her. “If you choose to do so, that’s on you. Now, if you don’t mind - actually, even if you do - I have invited guests who are considerably more important to me than you are.”

When I looked back from the porch she was gone. I stopped the recording on the phone and emailed it to myself, then dropped it back on the table.

“Local drama queen?” Katie asked, bringing out a plate of food from inside.

“She certainly considers herself the queen,” I confirmed

She laughed. “Off with your head!”

“Jeez, don’t give her ideas!”

About twenty minutes later, I got a call from the patio. “Ray, you’ve got a county-mounty pulling in out front.”

“What?” I pulled myself up and out of the pool. “Ewan, this isn’t Smokey and the Bandit.”

He laughed, but looked a bit worried. “Yeah, but I’m not kidding. A squad car just pulled in.”

“What now?”  Brenda couldn’t have actually called the cops could she?

She could. I went down the side-alley, past the two cars parked there and found a pair of deputies, one stood by the squad car, the other up by the door. “Can I help you?”

They both turned and the one by the door, the woman, looked me up and down suspiciously. I was only wearing shorts and flip-flops. “Are you the owner, sir?” she said, professionally enough.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Ray Kinnison. Is there a problem?”

“We’ve had a noise and safety complaint,” she said in a neutral fashion. “I understand you’re throwing a party.”

“That’s right.” I gestured back down the alley. “If you don’t mind coming around this way so I’m not dripping water all over my house, I can dry off and you can see for yourself.”

The two followed me and Katie threw me a towel, everyone giving me some space although it was pretty clear everyone was watching me with concern.

The man, the older of the two, had his phone out and aimed it at the laptop. “Is this the level you’ve been playing music at?” he asked mildly. Perhaps fortunately, it was a relatively tame track in terms of content.

“Yes, I haven’t touched the volume since I set it up.”

He nodded and glanced at his partner, who had walked over to the western gate.

The younger deputy pursed her lips. “Is this a private party, Mr Kinnison?”

“It is.”

“No charge for entry?”

“What? No, it’s a housewarming party for my friends.”

“And do you have a lifeguard here?”

I blinked. “Uh, nothing formal. We’ve got someone on rotation watching the pool just in case -” I waved in the direction of Keith, who was on a deckchair near the pool, being served hot dogs by Katie. “- but I don’t think any of us are trained lifeguards.”

“Thank you, sir.” She relaxed slightly. “And just to check, there are no children here?”

“No.” None of us were younger than mid-thirties and very few of us had children, fewer having sole custody. “And before you ask, no alcohol either. Most of my guests are driving home.”

The older deputy cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mr Kinnison. We have to respond to such complaints but your music is at a reasonable volume and there aren’t enough people here to require an official lifeguard. You may wish to take a class if you’re going to have frequent parties.”

I considered that. “I’ll keep it in mind. Is there somewhere you’d recommend?”

“If I can take your email, I’ll send you a link,” he offered.

I gave him the email address and asked, “Could I have a copy of your report please?”

The lady deputy arched an eyebrow. “Have you had previous complaints?”

“No, but without naming any names, I think I may have angered one of my neighbours so I’d probably be best keeping a record.”

“That’s probably wise,” the man said. “I’ll send it out once it’s logged.”

“Would it be inappropriate to offer you something to eat?” I asked, gesturing towards some plates where burgers and hot dogs were awaiting collection.

He smiled, professional demeanor cracked. “I’m afraid it would, sir. But thank you for the offer, and enjoy your housewarming.”

I walked them back to their car and Ewan met me when I came back in through the kitchen. “Crazy lady called the cops on you over the noise?”

“Seems like it,” I admitted.

“I thought that only happened on Reddit.”

“Life imitates art, art imitates life,” I told him, trying not to show my irritation. “Anyway, I’m not going to let her spoil the party.”

But that night, when all except two of my friends (who were using guest rooms and returning home tomorrow) had left, I wrote up an email to the Golden Hills HOA and logged a complaint about harassment. I also stated, without claiming to be a member, that the Greenfield HOA had no such requirement to report parties ahead of time. Which was true, unless I’d missed something in the bylaws. There was simply a bland requirement to respect neighbours’ property lines and keep noise to a reasonable level.

So far, Brenda was annoying me more than Barbara, but there was plenty of time for her to even the score.

Much to my surprise, this was not my last visit from the police.

It didn’t come immediately. First I got a certified letter from Barbara Collins, this time co-signed by her vice president, Stuart Smith. They advised me that they’d checked the boundaries of the Golden Hills development and enclosed an official map, showing that my house fell outside that boundary.

I was kind of impressed at how blinkered they were. They’d gone this far and not checked their own development’s map?

In any case, I was officially informed that they considered this decisive evidence that I was a part of Greenfield HOA and therefore liable for dues back my date of purchase, including the fines - which they were reinstating from their first demand onwards.

I considered keeping up the pretense, but there’s such a thing as pressing your luck. The pretense had kept the two HOAs off my back - mostly - until I had the money on hand to get a lawyer. I sent an email acknowledgement of the letter, advising that I appreciated the information but that this only proved that I wasn’t under obligation to Golden Hills but not to Greenfield.

Two days later I spoke to a lawyer, who agreed to check all the paperwork and either verify my position or identify any obligations I might be over.

When I returned home, there was a patrol car in my drive. I remember thinking “What now?”

One of the deputies walked over and it was the young woman I’d seen before. “Mr Kinnison?”

“Hello again?” I got out and looked around. “Another noise complaint?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. We’ve had… more serious concerns raised. Would you object to allowing us to inspect the property?”

I blinked. “I suppose so. Do you have a warrant?”

“Since you weren’t here when we got here, we were just calling for one.” She gestured to the car where another deputy - one I hadn’t met - was currently sat talking on his phone.

It took me a moment to think that over. “Alright. If I can have your names for my own records, I’ll let you in this time. But if this keeps happening I think I’ll need to insist on warrants. This is getting silly.”

I got a tight smile. “Just doing our jobs, sir.”

“Not you. This… situation. What am I accused of this time?” I went to the garage and opened it so they could check inside.

“There have been two different complaints,” the deputy said, gesturing for her partner to join us. “The first claimed that you have been abusing a dog.”

What? “I don’t have a dog. Or any pet,” I told them. “I’m not really an animal person.”

“I understand, but we have to check,” she told me as her partner checked the garage. “The other allegation is that you’re growing marijuana.”

“...I have no words. Mind if I move my car to the garage? I may need a little drink when we’re done, so I’d rather do that now.”

“Of course,” she said. I noticed that her partner went back to their car to wait while I did that. Just in case I decided to run?

I showed them around the house, letting them look around and find - of course - no evidence of any dog or any hidden farming. I don’t even have a potted plant. It was actually quite relaxing, a new audience to show my house off to. They checked every room, including the loft, before concluding that the entire thing was unfounded.

“Thank you for your time,” the other deputy said once we were done.

“I’m sorry you had to waste yours,” I told him. “Could you send me your report once it’s done? If this keeps happening, I may need to chase up the source of the complaints.”

They were happy to oblige, but when I compared it to the first report, it was quite different. Brenda had reported the noise complaint herself and made no bones about who she was. In contrast, these complaints came from two different pre-paid phones with no name given. Both callers were noted as female and both were made from the general area… but interestingly, they pinpointed the sources as on the Greenfield development.

It didn’t prove that Barbara was involved, but it was certainly suspicious. Mentally I updated the scoresheet to indicate that between the demand and potentially these complaints, she was now in the lead when it came to annoying me.

And then Brenda decided to get competitive. I later found out that Barbara had run into Brenda and claimed that she’d checked the developer map and it proved that I was in the Greenfield development.

Naturally, Brenda wouldn’t take this lying down and checked the developer’s map for Greenfield and discovered that this was not the case. Just like Barbara, she apparently didn’t bother checking the map for her own development.

This map was forwarded to me with a letter informing me of this discovery. Unlike Barbara’s letter, this one didn’t backdate the fines, just stating that the suspension had been ended so they would now begin accumulating again unless a payment arrangement was made.

However, on the second page of the letter, the tone shifted noticeably. Almost as if someone else was writing it.

On this page, I was offered a deal. My pool had apparently drawn attention - the wall wasn’t high enough to obscure it from the street and the Golden Hills HOA was offering to waive all prior dues and fines, if I was willing to open this to their residents for parts of the upcoming summer vacation period. If this went well, the letter continued, possibly this could become a regular annual event with a rebate on my dues in exchange for access.

To be completely honest, that didn’t seem like a bad deal. Except, of course, that I didn’t owe them any dues. But I thought I could see where Brenda was coming from. Greenfield HOA had a community pool, but Golden Hill HOA didn’t. So Brenda was trying to ‘keep up’ with Barbara.

That was a solid argument against the idea to my mind. I didn’t want to be a battlefield for their egos, I’d just played off that to buy time.

Once again, I sent a polite email thanking them for evidence I wasn’t obligated to the neighbouring HOA but pointing out that this didn’t prove I was inside their boundaries either. I also advised that I wasn’t interested in becoming a conflict point with Greenfield, as I could be targeted for noise complaints and other harassment. I didn’t specifically reference Brenda’s complaint about me, but I imagine that she got the message.

The response came the next day when I was cleaning the back yard around the pool. The weather forecast was good so I thought I might be making use of it.

A knocking sound came from the western gate and I turned around to see a thirty-something woman in a navy blue pant-suit watching me over the wall.

“Are you selling something?” I asked.

“I’m fresh out of girl scout cookies,” she replied wryly. “I’m Karen Bennett, from the HOA. Are you Mr Kinnison?”

“That’s me.” I leant the mop against the wall and walked over. “Is this about the HOA dues again?”

“It’s about the second part of our letter,” Karen said diplomatically. “Could we talk somewhere a little more privately?”

I unlatched the gate. “I don’t see why not. Let me wash my hands and we can sit down on my porch.” I didn’t think letting an HOA board member inside my house was a great idea. And while it might be nasty and suspicious, I did have the slightly paranoid thought that being out of sight inside with her might make any accusations made against me hard to dispute. I’m not of the opinion that all assault cases are rubbish, but I also believe that it’s very easy to make the accusation and tar someone in public opinion even if no formal charges are laid.

Hands clean and with two glasses of water, I returned five minutes later and saw her looking at the pool. “You have a lovely house,” Karen told me before sitting in the chair I offered.

“Thank you.” I sat down facing her. “So, you want to use my pool?”

She nodded. “You have a particularly large plot and while a couple of our other residents have their own pools, they aren’t as large or as easily accessible.”

“And how much of this is because of Brenda wanting to keep up with Mrs Collins?” I asked, nodding towards my eastern boundary.

Karen looked chagrined. “I won’t say that it’s not partly a factor,” she admitted. “They do have a difficult relationship. However, there is genuine demand for a pool. A number of our residents have children who have classmates living in the neighbouring development. And as you might imagine, children talk.”

“Couldn’t you work out some sort of access arrangement? The welcome pack Greenfield sent me talks about allowing guests.”

“There are two problems there,” she admitted. “The first, you’ve just touched upon. The second, is that even if… personal considerations were resolved, there’s no ready pedestrian access through. The main road has no sidewalk and given the entrances are quite far apart, it would be a long walk - particularly for children. Certainly for them to go unescorted.”

I scratched my chin. Those were valid points and I didn’t really like the idea of children cycling on the main road. Traffic there could be travelling quite fast. “I do see your concerns.”

Karen lifted her water glass and sipped. “I understand you’re disputing the question of dues, but could we work out some compromise? It would mean a great deal for the community if we could sort out pool access over the summer vacation.” She paused. “I did discuss offering you payment, but Brenda shot that down while there are outstanding charges. I’m sorry, but I think she does have a point.”

“I’m willing to consider the two matters separately,” I allowed slowly. “But there would be some issues. Let me think a moment.”

“Of course.”

Karen may have thought I was considering the financial implications but what I had in mind were the questions I’d been asked by the deputies during their first visit over Brenda’s noise complaint.

“I think there would be insurance issues,” I said at last. “I’m not a trained lifeguard and couldn’t commit to be available even if I was. We’re discussing unsupervised minors on private property and that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

“What if we were to provide one?” she asked, a little desperately.

I shook my head. “At that point I have someone working for the HOA acting in a management capacity on my land. I’m sorry, Ms Bennett. I think you can see how that would complicate the other matter I have going on with Golden Hills.”

Her face fell. “And I doubt I could convince Brenda to pay you money to hire one.”

I nodded and then leant forwards. “That could get commercial, which is its own potential problem. However,” I lowered my voice. “There may be a simpler solution.”

Karen also leant in, looking slightly conspiratorial. “What do you mean?”

I pointed at the gates. “This is effectively a private path connecting the two developments,” I pointed out. “If I - on a provisional basis only, you understand - leave both gates open at agreed times, then I could allow residents to use it to reach the swimming pool. Or, to be fair, to allow Greenfield residents through to use your facilities. How you work that out isn’t really my business.”

Her face lit up, quite engagingly. “You’d be alright with that?”

I tilted my hand back and forth. “Provisionally. It’d be on the condition that there’s no trespassing into the rest of my property, no loitering, littering… I’ll need to draw up a list of conditions. And one of those would be very specific clause that this doesn’t obligate me to either HOA.”

“That seems entirely reasonable,” Karen agreed. “We might need to… slip this past Barbara and Brenda.”

I smirked. “Good luck with that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Mr Kinnison. This would mean a lot to our community.”

We shook hands on the agreement in principal and I walked her back to the gate.

My lawyer was more than happy to be paid for writing up a legal agreement that said everything I wanted.

I agreed to leave the gates open 9am to 5pm on weekdays only and only during the upcoming summer vacation. In exchange, residents were informed that this was for through access only and that this was a privilege, not a right. I retained the right to terminate the arrangement if conduct wasn’t acceptable, but I would not be policing who used my patio. Any future usage would have to be discussed after we saw how things worked out.

I don’t know if it was Karen or Brenda, but two days after the agreement was published in the Golden Hills newsletter, a garbage bin and a sign appeared outside my western gate. The sign credited the Golden Hills HOA for negotiating an easement, but did make it clear that good behavior was expected. I wasn’t really happy with the phrasing but for now, I’d allow it to pass.

On the first weekday of the summer vacation, I went out and found a small cluster of teens, tweens and three adults waiting when I went out to open the gates. I even got a chorus of thank yous, prompted by one of the adults, as they went past me.

It wasn’t always that smooth and I did find an empty soda can beside the steps up to my porch that evening when I cleaned up. I photographed it and made a log, but it didn’t seem enough to make a fuss about yet. If it became consistent, then yes. I tossed the can into the HOA-installed receptacle and thought no more of it.

The next day, there weren’t just people waiting at the west gate, although the east gate had a very different attendance.

Barbara Collins and an unfamiliar man were waiting and I saw Barbara go red in the face as I opened the west gate and admitted the youngsters. When I led the way over to the gate leading into Greenfield subdivision, she all but exploded. “You can’t just let them tramp through here!”

I opened the gate and swung it wide. “I don’t see why not.” There was enough room to get a truck through, so two people had no chance to stop the kids behind me. The man didn’t even try and looked embarrassed as Brenda spread her arms and tried to herd them back.

“Get back out of Greenfield!” she shouted as tweens darted around her, giggling. The teens took it a little more seriously, by which I mean half of them took out phones and started recording her. She tried to look more dignified. “You cannot simply come here and use Golden Hills facilities built for our residents!”

The two adults present today looked over at me and I shrugged. “I have easements either way, so I can let you across. What you do there isn’t my problem.”

“This is conspiracy!” she hissed, keeping her voice down, probably aware of the phones. “You and Brenda put this together to take advantage of the Greenfield community.”

“Barbara,” the man said in a voice strained by evident frustration. “Why don’t you let me handle this?”

“I can’t have this!” She turned towards him. “This man is -!”

“I know,” he told her. “But this sort of confrontation won’t help. Please.”

For a moment I saw her visibly considering further arguments but fortunately, restraint won out. “Very well,” she said stiffly. “But this will not stand, Stuart. And you, Mr Kinnision, you are very much mistaken to think that you can get away with this!”

I watched her walk away and then looked back at Stuart. “Goodness. She’s ugly when she’s angry.”

He sighed. “She’s very provoked, Mr Kinnison.”

I made a non-committal noise. “She should probably avoid having not one leg to stand on then. Not good for her blood pressure.”

“Could we talk about this?”

“It seems possible,” I allowed. “And you would be?”

“Stuart Smith.” He offered his hand. “Vice President of the HOA.”

“Which HOA?”

He gave me a sour look. “Greenfield HOA. And she does have a point. The pool was built for Greenfield residents.”

I shrugged. “And, as I understand it, their guests. I don’t know any details but I don’t think those kids are going right to the pool. More likely they are off to see friends who live on this side of no-man’s-land who will take them in as guests.”

Stuart considered that and then closed his eyes. “That would be legitimate, although I can’t imagine Barbara will take it well.”

I gestured for him to move aside off the path and he complied, giving me a puzzled look.

That look turned to shock as a couple of teenage girls in tennis gear came up behind him and then trotted across my lot to Golden Hills, not giving us a second-look.

“Funny thing about paths,” I told the dumbstruck vice-president. “They go both ways.”

He rubbed his brow. “It’s probably a good thing Barbara didn’t see that.”

“Sooner or later, she will find out.”

“Is this allowed, legally?” Stuart asked.

“Holdover from construction,” I told him. “The same company built Greenfield and Golden Hills and didn’t want to have to move slow and heavy equipment between them on the main road. They paid for me to have easement in both directions that I could extend to them. Legally, I can open this to anyone I choose - and close it if I want.”

He leant forwards. “Barbara is already considering escalating the matter of your dues,” he warned. “This may spur her to be more aggressive.”

I sighed. “She doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“I’d be interested in finding out how you plan to make that stick,” he offered.

I glanced at my clock. “Yeah, this has probably gone on too long. How about you come back… Friday night, around five. I’ll invite someone reasonable from Golden Hills HOA over and we’ll get this sorted out. I should have all the paperwork ready.”

“I could look at it now if you have time.”

“I need to get to work, plus my lawyer would be shirty if I denied them the chance to bill me up to the end of the week.”

Stuart nodded in sympathy. “I’ll try to keep Barbara from doing anything too dramatic until then,” he told me, but he didn’t look at all confident.

Stuart, it seemed, knew Barbara pretty well and his lack of confidence was proven right the next morning.

The following morning, about an hour after I’d opened the gates to let people through, I heard noises from the east gate and put my work on hold to go out and check.

Three workmen had blocked my gate with a temporary barrier and were installing a printed aluminum sign, drilling into the brick wall to secure the two by four holding it.

“Gentlemen,” I said politely, “You appear to be on my lot, blocking one of my gates.”

The oldest of them looked over. “Yes, well, we’ll be done soon.”

“Common courtesy would seem to suggest you could have knocked. Since you’re on my land anyway.”

He flushed slightly. “Yes. I’m sorry. I was told the house wasn’t currently occupied.”

“I see, really?” I walked over to look at the sign. It read ‘no access’, and ‘trespassing will be prosecuted.’ And it had the Greenfield emblem between those two friendly statements. “Seems like someone told you wrong.” Leaning over the wall, I checked. Same words on the other side.

The two younger men eyed me warily. “Look, we’re working for the HOA,” one explained. “It’s apparently an emergency job.”

“I see. You’re doing a very neat job,” I praised them. “I don’t think you should be doing it without checking with the owner, but I can’t fault the workmanship. Just out of curiosity, if this is removed, would it be possible to restore the wall?”

“Yes,” the older man said quickly. “We drilled right into the cement, so we could remove the bolts and fill the holes. It’d take the right tools but it would be almost impossible to tell it was ever there.”

“Good, good.” I took out my phone and took a picture. “Just out of interest, if I wanted you to do some work for me, how would I get in touch?”

They were quite relieved to give me a contact number for their office, clearly relieved that I wasn’t going to drag them into whatever my problem was with the sign. I nodded. “Please move those barriers so people can get past.”

“Uh…” One of them pointed up at the words ‘no access’.

I grinned and they looked away. “Whatever you say, man.” They adjusted the barriers, leaving plenty of room.

Two kids who had apparently been waiting on the Golden Hills side darted across, as if afraid the barrier would be closed. They had swimming bags on their backs. “Thanks, Mr Kinnison!” one called as he went past.

“You have a good day!” I called after them and went back inside. “Don’t go closing my gate,” I called to the workmen before closing my door.

Thirty minutes later, I was back out with a ladder and a simple paper cover for the sign. The workmen had gone so there was no one to bother me as I taped it over both sides of the sign. It didn’t look as professional any more, but it said simply: ‘private path’. I took another picture and went back inside to write an email to the Greenfield HOA, copying in every board member.

The email contained photos of their sign and advised that it had been fitted on my property, which wasn’t under their authority, and that as I had a legal easement onto Greenfield Avenue, the sign was inappropriate. I gave them until mid-day on Saturday to remove it, after which I’d do so and bill them for it. Via civil court if need be.

My email got a reply by sundown, directly from Barbara, warning me that I had defaced an official HOA sign and adding a further fine. When I looked outside, the cover had been removed since I closed the gate at five.

Well, it was just paper. I printed another and the next morning, when I went out to open the gates, I put the second cover on.

This was gone by lunch but it didn’t matter. No one was paying the sign any attention. And that was probably what upset Barbara the most. To her mind, Brenda’s residents were ignoring her authority and this constituted a defeat in her private war with the rival president. And I, by enabling this, had taken a side.

Under the circumstances, I arranged for a couple of security cameras to cover the full length of my patio. They were installed by the end of the next day.

On Friday, I was making sure I was ready for the meeting (that Karen had been happy to agree to) when my doorbell rang. I went to the door and found a courier with a letter. “Mr Kinnison?”

“That’s me?”

“Could you sign for this?”

I scribbled my signature and he took a photo of the letter in my hand. “Have a nice day.”

“I was,” I muttered to the man’s retreating back. I had a feeling that this letter might spoil it.

Opening the letter, I was glad I wasn’t drinking. The letter was an ultimatum from Greenfield Homeowner Association, signed only by Barbara this time.

And by ultimatum, I mean I had a deadline. Unless I paid my dues, and the fines for late payment, and a further ten thousand dollar fine for defacing an official HOA sign - that’s right, ten thousand! - and blocked all further access across my property by non-residents, she advised that the HOA would file a lien against my property with intent to repossess. I had thirty days. It wasn’t clear if they meant thirty days before they filed the lien or thirty days before they’d seize my house. Repossess something they never owned to begin with.

I didn’t get much work that afternoon, something my manager was very understanding about once I explained the letter.

Barbara had won. Not what she was fighting for, but she was undeniably now the neighbour who had caused me the most anger. And with no other signature on the letter, I suspected that she hadn’t consulted the rest of the board about it.

I also had a distinct suspicion that the fraudulent repossession was the point. She had, after all, wanted to buy my house when it was still being built. If she managed to make that stick, then she’d have stopped what she saw as Brenda’s incursion, got rid of me and acquired the house she wanted all the time.

When I went out to close the gates, Karen and Stuart were both waiting at the respective gates. Karen asked: “Is something wrong?”

“We’ll talk inside,” I said, waving her in before closing the gate.

Stuart gestured to the sign. “I’m sorry about this,” he said. “I’ve spoken to the treasurer and we can have this down tomorrow.”

“It’s gone a little past that,” I said. “But let’s talk inside.”

Once we were inside I showed them both the letter from Barbara. It reduced Stuart to stammering incoherence for almost a minute. I couldn’t blame him, he wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t thought.

“Is this even legal?” he asked at last.

“If the dues and fines are valid, then in theory yes,” Karen said steadily. “It would be… disproportionate, but I think that the ten thousand mentioned here would bring it into the range of being possible. But those are some significant ifs. Mr Kinnison, are you part of Greenfield HOA or Golden Hills?”

I produced my folder. “Do you know, that’s the first time anyone’s actually asked.”

Then I walked them through the development map and my contract with the construction company. The official easements that showed I had right of access to the streets of each development. And finally the letter from my lawyer, confirming my interpretation of the legalese in clear and concise terms.

“How did Barbara not know this?” Stuart asked at the end. “She knows the developer, she had to talk to them in order to set up the HOA. And she said she’d checked the property records.”

“Two points there,” I said. “Firstly, from what she’s sent me, I think she only checked the property records in order to show I wasn’t part of Golden Hills. And Brenda did the same - she sent a map showing the Greenfield boundaries, but not one showing Golden Hills. Of course, they could have seen that and decided not to use maps that didn’t prove their point…”

Karen raked her fingers through her hair. “I can believe it. And what’s your second point, Ray?” At some point in the conversation, the three of us had reached first name status.

“The developers’ agreements require buyers to join a Homeowner’s Association,” I told them, “But Brenda and Barbara’s associations aren’t mentioned. I don’t think they have any special agreement, they just jumped in with momentum to start setting up their own private fiefs and buyers signed up rather than shop around or form their own.

“That’s…” Stuart stared off into the distance. “Barbara was very…”

“Forceful?” Karen grimaced. “That’s how Brenda was.”

“Like two peas in a pod,” he said.

Brenda’s vice president snorted. “From what I’ve picked up, the two of them were in the same class and sorority at college. They’ve been fighting ever since.”

“I can believe it.” I sat back in my seat. “So, let’s recap: I don’t have any obligation to join any Homeowner’s Association.”

They both nodded.

“Barbara’s sign violates my easement.”

“It will be gone tomorrow,” Stuart promised.

“It might serve a purpose to leave it there a little longer,” I said slowly.

Karen gave me a searching look. “What do you have in mind?”

“My third point is that no one in either development has a legal obligation to be part of Brenda or Barbara’s HOA. And the feuding between the two of them isn’t helping either community.”

There were two reluctant nods.

I smiled sharply. “I suggest that it might be helpful to have a community meeting without either of them.”

“Which community?” asked Stuart.

“Both.” Karen saw where I was going. “Our residents are actively trying to find ways around the barriers set up between the two subdivisions.”

“Exactly. And those barriers are being guarded by Brenda and Barbara. So,” I asked, “How do we get them out of town for as long as it takes to get an emergency meeting of your residents?”

“Mr Kinnison,” Brenda told me, just four days later. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot previously.”

She was on my porch, having been lying in wait when I came out to open the gate on Tuesday. Normally I might have talked to her over the gate, but sometimes it’s best to withdraw strategically to draw an opponent onto ground favorable to you.

“That could be said,” I allowed cautiously.

She leant forwards. “My children have been delighted to have access to the pool,” she said brightly. “I hope we can improve our current relationship.”

For a dreadful moment I thought she was flirting. Given how she’d talked about her divorce, I’d have felt safer with a snake.

Then she turned slightly and indicated the sign set up by Barbara’s work crew. “That’s not very welcoming, is it?”

“It’s not,” I agreed. We’d left it in place for strategic reasons. For some reason that made me eager to get rid of it than I was when everyone except Barbara was ignoring it.

“You know,” Brenda offered. “If we could just clear up this membership matter, that could be dealt with. The HOA would fight for you. Force Barbara Collins to take it away.”

I smiled as if I knew something she didn’t - which was true. And about to tell her - which was not.

“I’ve got that covered,” I told her. “A work crew scheduled for the week after next. When she comes back from vacation, the sign will be propped up outside her house, with a bill for its removal.”

“I’m sure that will be quite the welcome back,” Brenda said with a spark of interest in her eyes, but then she hesitated. “Are you sure she is going away?”

“Some fancy resort,” I said dismissively. “I wasn’t paying attention. Someone on her board will probably tell her before she’s back, but as long as she’s not here to throw her weight around…”

Brenda’s smile grew a little plastic. “Please consider paying your dues, Mr Kinnison. We can waive the fines given how helpful you’ve been. It would regularize your place within our community.”

I considered telling her that community wasn’t the same thing as association, but the time wasn’t right. “Community is on my mind,” I said carefully. “I’ve sought some legal advice, let me get back to you once I’ve dealt with the current issue.”

She huffed but seemed to conclude that this was all she was going to get today. “Please don’t let this spin off too long,” she warned. “Fines can build up faster than you may realize. Together with legal costs, you might find yourself in difficulty.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said and gestured to the west gate. “Thanks for stopping by… or will you be going for a swim?”

Brenda laughed a little shrilly. “Not in their pool I think. I have my own vacation plans.”

Well, I had a feeling that she did now. Whether or not she had planned a vacation before we spoke or not, well that was another matter.

I wasn’t the only one dropping hints. Karen and a few of her trusted friends let the word get out into Brenda’s social circle that Barbara had some expensive holiday planned, details unclear until she could reveal it with a suitable audience.

Naturally, Stuart was doing the same in Greenfield, except about the news that Brenda was preparing to reveal her own glamorous vacation plans to the community.

By the weekend, both presidents were openly scheduled to leave the same week, one to the east coast and the other to the west. Names were dropped, photos of resorts. I heard whispers about the costs - places that weren’t cheap if they were booked a year ahead of time. A week’s notice? Much pricier.

We waited for confirmation that both of them were in the air. Then we struck.

Both Stuart and Karen had requested a meeting from the membership of their respective HOAs, for the stated purpose of ‘resolving conflict’. It’s possibly hypothetically that they may have been a little selective about telling people what conflict they wanted to resolve.

Rather than using their usual venues, each specified the meeting would be held on my patio - strongly suggesting to those backing the respective presidents that this was to exploit my offer of access to pressure me. (I later found out that Barbara heard about this and sent Stuart a text telling him it was ‘a brilliant move!!’ I’m not sure if Brenda found out until after the fact.)

I was ready for the meeting and was friendly and welcoming. There was non-alcoholic punch, bowls of potato chips. The first arrivals were a little confused to see people from the other HOA, but as more and more people arrived they started greeting people they’d met at the pool or tennis courts, or whose children were friends with theirs. It all underlined that the people from Greenfield and Golden Hills weren’t faceless enemies, they were neighbours much like themselves.

At the agreed start time, Stuart and Karen took up position on the porch and welcomed everyone to the first joint neighbourhood meeting. A quick show of hands confirmed that we had quorums present from both memberships (which had people standing halfway back towards my south wall, on either side of the pool).

Karen introduced a short agenda: first, my membership situation. Then Stuart would discuss the case of members using the neighbouring HOA’s facilities. And finally, Karen would propose a solution.

I started by playing my recording of Brenda challenging my pool party, something that caused some uneasy laughter. “Can anyone tell me if that was Brenda Michaels or Barbara Collins?” I asked. “Hands in the air, who thinks Brenda?”

About half the hands went up.

“And who thinks Barbara?”

Again, about half.

“I have trouble keeping them straight too,” I confided and got a more honest laugh. “They are pretty similar. Both insist I’m part of their HOA. And either they didn’t check my property’s situation, or they did and thought somehow I wouldn’t be aware of it.”

I walked them through the two developments and why they were required to join a Homeowner Agreement. “But,” I said, turning over the whiteboard Stuart had borrowed somewhere to reveal a blown up copy of the construction company’s map of the area, with each developer’s zone marked clearly. “There weren’t two developments here. The construction company had three contracts - one for Greenfield, one for Golden Hills and here -” I marked the obvious incision right at one end of their boundary, “one for me.”

Karen stepped up to join me. “Stuart and I have both reviewed the map and verified this. Mr Kinnison has no obligation to join a HOA if he doesn’t want to. Thank you, Ray.”

I stepped aside and let Stuart talk about how many people were estimated as using my patio to reach facilities belonging to the other HOA. He’d set up a discreet camera with my permission and recorded use one day, then sped through it to get a quick count. The camera had been deliberately aimed below head height so no one could be identified.

“The pool has seen more use than previously but it’s not at capacity,” he said. “My understanding is that there’s plenty of room for everyone to use it - and my understanding is that it’s the same for the facilities Golden Hills has.”

“That’s right,” Karen agreed.

“And I think we can say that there’s been plenty of interest,” Stuart continued. “We both have a lot to offer each other. And thanks to Mr Kinnson’s generosity, we’ve been able to explore this. Of course, not everyone’s happy about it.” He pointed to the sign Barbara had installed.

Karen took over again. “Could I have a show of hands,” she asked. “Just informally. Who here thinks we should cut off access between the two subdivisions, cutting us off from each other again?”

One hesitant hand went up and then dropped when eyes turned towards it.

“And how many people would like a permanent solution that lets us share the facilities?”

There was a forest of hands in the area.

Karen nodded. “We have such a solution. Stuart and I have contacted the developers and they have both confirmed they have no objection to dealing with a single HOA covering both subdivisions. What we propose is to create a new Homeowner Association that takes over all responsibilities currently held by Greenfield and Golden Hills, including administering the community facilities. Members would have access to all those facilities without any work-arounds like guesting with each other.”

“What about Brenda?” someone called.

“Shouldn’t the presidents be here?” another voice asked.

“The presidents and the boards answer to the residents,” Stuart said firmly. “We have quorums here from both memberships, and such a decision cannot be made without open voting anyway.”

“We propose a vote now to create a transitional board that will oversee the establishment of a new Hillfield HOA,” Karen declared. “In thirty days, we will hold a further meeting - this time in the community hall - to vote on new community bylaws and permanent leadership. Brenda and Barbara will be back well before that.”

“Hell, can’t we do this before they get back?” a man called out at the back.

Karen raised her voice. “We need to do this right. Not just to resolve any conflicts in the two sets of bylaws but to cover all the financial obligations. And we’ll need to plan our own paths, we can’t keep using Mr Kinnison’s backyard forever.”

“Are you going to join?” someone asked me.

I shrugged. “Depends. Seems to me I can be a good neighbour without. I don’t need the pool, but if I want to use the other facilities…” I grinned. “Well, I’d have to join or guest, right?”

The vote to form a transitional board was near overwhelming. Karen was appointed president, Stuart turned down being vice president and became treasurer. Four other members were elected, two from each side. None of them were serving board members.

Barbara and Brenda arrived back the same day, having been advised by their loyalists of what had been done in their absence.

Karen gave me a call. “Just to let you know, Ray,” she began. “Brenda assembled the board and dismissed me within an hour of getting home.”

“Dismissed you from what?”

“The Golden Hills HOA board,” she said. “Doesn’t affect the provisional Hillfield board, since there’s not even bylaws for that yet. She’d need a majority vote of membership over that.”

“Should I expect her over here?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Karen admitted. “I’ve also been banned from using the community centre for… anything.” She sounded amused. “Do you mind if Stuart and I borrow your patio for working out the new bylaws. We could use one of our houses, but it’d be better to somewhere… well, it’s not public but you get the idea.”

“You can use my porch if the weather requires it,” I offered. “Just don’t take it as a permanent residence.”

Stuart arrived the next day with a laptop. “I’m suspended from the board,” he told me. “Barbara claimed it was to free me to work on the new bylaws. I suspect she’ll be over when she finds out that I’m not doing it at home.”

“To shout?”

“With ‘suggestions’,” he told me, putting down his laptop to make air quotes.

“Aren’t you glad we didn’t remove her sign?” I asked and pointed at it.

Stuart’s eyes widened and he laughed, tension lines fading around his eyes.

Karen got there before Barbara caught on - I don’t know if she deduced where Stuart was or if someone called her. I was serving drinks to my two guests when Barbara, wearing a pink pant-suit, stormed through my open gate. “You -!” she started to shriek.

“Barbara!” I called across her words and pointed. “Don’t you see the sign! No access! Trespassing will be prosecuted!”

“Don’t give me that!” She came through the gate and pointed accusingly at Stuart. “You’re trying to destroy our community.”

Stuart took his hands off the laptop. “No, Barbara, we’re growing the community.”

We were interrupted then by Brenda, who had her own bones to pick with all three of us. Of course, Barbara wanted the same metaphorical bones and the two of them were incapable of sharing anything, much less co-operating.

“I don’t need your input.” “If certain people would stop interrupting!” “This wouldn’t have happened if you controlled your people.” “Don’t you dare pin this on me when you -!”

I stirred the pot a little, by ignoring them, smiling slightly and then reminding Karen and Stuart that they’d need to decide what the fines were for not paying dues, since the two HOAs had different processes.

“This is you trying to weasel out of paying your membership!” the two harpies… sorry, the two incumbent presidents, both shouted. More or less, I may have missed a word here or there with them speaking over each other.

“This property is part of Greenfield,” Barbara almost shrieked.

“I’ve seen the plats!” Brenda challenged her, “Mr Kinnison is in Golden Hills!”

Stuart snapped, pushing himself to his feet. “You’re both wrong,” he said sharply. “I have also seen the maps - the county boundaries, the construction maps and the developers maps. It took all of fifteen minutes to verify that -”

“You!” hissed Barbara, turning back to Brenda. “This is Mark all over again!”

“This is just like you!” the other blonde shot back.

Stuart tried to butt in but I held him back. “They’re not interested,” I told him. “This is about them. We’re just prizes they are fighting over, and our opinions don’t matter to either of them. No one listens to a trophy.”

I don’t think either woman had heard me. They were too busy getting in each other’s face, voices getting higher. I was wondering if they were going to get physical about this, when a girl in tennis whites came through the west gate. “Mom?” she asked, a horrified note in her voice.

Barbara froze and then turned, face falling from rage to humiliation. “Helen? What are you…”

“I was playing tennis!” the teenager exclaimed. “Why are you screaming? I could hear you halfway down the block!”

Brenda started to snort but I leant forward. “You were pretty loud too, Ms Michaels.”

The Greenfield president grabbed the girl by the wrist. “We’ll talk at home!” But before she was through the gate she started “What were you doing on Golden Hills courts!”

“Mom! There’s no courts over here!” her daughter protested.

Bereft of her adversary, Brenda turned towards me. “Do you think this is funny?” she asked, seeing my face.

“Hilarious,” I said honestly. “Now, the terms of access here do say: no loitering. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Shoo.”

She turned on her heel and stalked away, back stiff and knuckles white.

Karen waited until she was out of earshot and then said: “I turned on record when Mrs Collins arrived. Just in case. I hope you don’t mind.”

“In this case, I think I’ll permit it,” I told her. “Send me a copy, though. It might be needed.”

There was a shocking lack of drama over the rest of the thirty day wait for the full meeting.

Karen and Stuart asked me occasionally to break ties when they disagreed over particular bylaws. I erred, as much as possible, in the direction of keeping them to the most basic points.

“You seem to think that the board should have no say in most matters,” Stuart noted.

“My own feeling is that the board’s job is to administer the rules they are given,” I replied. “Keeping them clear and simple - and short - makes that easier. The membership can add rules about grass length later if they want them.”

Karen nodded. “That’s a fair point. The main thing is to have a functional HOA that meets the developers requirements to administer community resources.”

Stuart still looked reluctant but eventually nodded. “You’ve heard that Barbara has given up on trying to stop us and is pushing to be elected to the new board once it comes in?”

“I received a flier,” Karen told him and looked over at me. “Did you?”

“No.” Then I smirked, “But Brenda asked me if I’d be interested in being her vice-president.”

That got an irritated “The nerve!” from the president of the provisional board.

“I told her no, of course.”

“Of course you did,” Karen said a little huffily.

When the big day came, people started streaming towards the Golden Hills community centre. Some of them crossed my land to do so.

I got a questioning look from one tired looking mother who was herding three children she presumably didn’t think she could leave unsupervised for the evening. “Are you joining, Mr Kinnison?”

“I’ve been invited to speak,” I said instead. “I’ve no vote on the matter. Only the members of the current associations will vote.”

“But you could?”

“Assuming consent from both parties.”

She grabbed one of her boys by the collar and steered him back in line. “Both HOAs?”

“No, myself and the new HOA.”

When we got to the community centre, Stuart was waiting. “Ray, thank god.”

“Problems?” I enquired.

“Barbara and Brenda both wanted to solicit votes at the door,” he said wearily. “They came this close -” He had his fingers pretty close. “- to throwing another spat.”

“Pity they didn’t,” I said frankly. “We could use a floor show.”

“They’re also demanding a chance to present their own proposed bylaws for the Hillfields. Basically, a manifesto.”

“Together?” I asked in surprise.

“No, both of them!”

“Give ‘em twenty minutes each,” I suggested. “Same for Karen. If they can’t decide what order to speak in… why did I say if. When they can’t agree on that, draw straws.”

He leaned in. “It won’t take Karen twenty minutes.”

“Good.” I felt a thumbdrive in my pocket. “Be firm about no more than twenty minutes. And if possible, have her go last.”

“And when do you want to speak?” Stuart asked as we went inside.

“Ideally, after the terrible twosome and before Karen. But if she’s not last, after both of them.”

He nodded and waved me to my seat at one end of the front row of seating. There was room for over three hundred people and I could already tell that we were running short. There were more than two hundred households to represent and not everyone had come alone.

In the end I gave up my seat to handle the overflow and perched on one of the tables at the side of the room, with the volunteers preparing ballots for the vote.

Stuart took the podium first and kept it short. “Thank you all for coming to what will hopefully be a fresh beginning for our neighbourhood. As the vice president of the provisional board, I’ll be moderating this meeting. There are three different proposals for the new HOA’s structure and bylaws. There will be presentations for each, and a short report after all of them. After that, we’ll be carrying out a written vote on the choices, with options to vote for one of the three proposals or to retain the current division.” He paused. “Does anyone have any questions.”

There were several and he fielded them patiently, putting specifics of the future HOA off until the presentations but handling procedural questions firmly. Then he turned on the screen. “We’ll try to keep this succinct, each proposed structure is to be no more than twenty minutes long. I’m sure we’d all like to have the votes in by sunset, even if the count takes longer. There will be tea, coffee and juice for those wishing to wait for the count to be completed.”

Then he turned. “Our first presentation will be from Ms Brenda Michaels, the current president of Golden Hills HOA.”

Brenda got a smattering of applause as she went up to  the podium, but she waved to the audience as if she was accepting office as president. Of the union, I mean. Not just an Association.

“I want to address community,” she began, “And order.”

I paid very little attention to what she said, though it was fairly clear she was wanting to extend the same regulations used by the Golden Hills currently to everyone. I saw Barbara in the audience and her teeth were clenched, scribbling on a clipboard as she listened. Probably trying to alter her own speech to avoid overlapping and harbouring dark suspicions that Brenda had somehow stolen her own rhetoric.

At the nineteen minute mark, by which point I think everyone was counting the minutes, Stuart leaned forwards slightly and said something inaudible from where I was. Brenda didn’t acknowledge him.

Sixty seconds later, he rose from his chair and cut across her flow. “Thank you, Ms Michaels,” he said firmly.

“Excuse me,” Brenda told him, “I’m not quite finished.”

“You’ve had your twenty minutes,” Stuart told her firmly. “Please step aside for the next candidate.”

With evident reluctance, she picked up her notes, the thumb-drive containing her powerpoint presentation, and her attitude to make her way back to her seat.

“The next speaker will be Ms Karen Bennett, the president of the provisional board,” Stuart announced, “Presenting our proposal.”

Karen didn’t posture as she took centre stage, putting her own presentation up on the screen. Where Brenda had used pictures of the various facilities, Karen was mostly providing graphs of financial plans.

In the end it took her less than ten minutes to summarise the proposed bylaws and outline how she planned to see all facilities funded at current levels of dues. “We may be able to make modest reductions once the initial costs of transition are paid,” she said cautiously, “But I am not going to promise that at this time.”

Closing down the presentation, she indicated posters on the side of the centre. “We’ve put a full copy of the proposed bylaws up if you’d like to look at them before voting.”

“Why couldn’t we do that?” Barbara snapped from where she was standing waiting to take the podium. Loud enough to be heard without a microphone.

Karen gave her a very mild look. “You didn’t ask, Mrs Collins.”

I doubt there would have been enough wall.

“Thank you for that presentation, Karen,” Stuart said, taking back centre stage. “ And now Mrs Collins, the president of Greenfield HOA, will present the final vision for Hillfield HOA.”

Barbara’s presentation didn’t flow as well, she was clearly improvising in places. (Evidence, I suspect, that I was right about her script having been very similar to Brenda’s.) Her presentation leant just as heavily on photos of the neighbourhood. She spoke of unity, of a firm hand, but at the same time she pointed out that Greenfield had less stringent rules than Golden Hills, presenting that as a compromise between Brenda’s vision and Karen’s.

Stuart gave her another quiet warning at the nineteen minute mark but unlike Brenda, she took it seriously and moved quickly into a closing summary. It was a campaign promise. A politician’s position. If she hadn’t tried to take my house, I might have been more impressed.

“Thank you, Mrs Collins,” Stuart told her. “Now, I know we’ve been waiting a while, but before we begin the votes, Mr Kinnison has a few things to say regarding the use of his property this summer. He’s been very kind in opening it for our use, so I think he’s due a little applause.”

I got that applause, to my surprise.

“Thank you,” I said from the podium. “I’ll keep this brief for you.” The applause picked up a little before it died down.

“I had some concerns about how letting people cross my land would go when I gave consent,” I told them, plugging in my own thumbdrive. A copy of the contract we’d agreed when I allowed that was the first item I showed them.

“I cannot say that there has been no littering,” I continued. “Which is disappointing, but it was the exception and I’m happy to say that almost everyone has been respectful in the use of the access I granted. At this point, I see no reason to close off the access before school starts again, in two weeks.”

There was applause again, some of the residents assuming that was it.

I raised my hand. “Unfortunately, that isn’t the end of it. There has been what I feel is a significant exception to what I just said about respectful use of access.” I closed the image of the contract and opened a movie file, pausing it before it began. “Not quite four weeks ago, two residents - one from each side - behaved very poorly indeed. Bad apples, among a vast majority of good neighbours.”

I hit play. Brenda and Barbara were both white-faced as the security footage of their argument outside my porch began to play. I’d stretched my very limited editing skills to splice in audio from Karen’s recording.

Every sharp remark, every insult, every lack of courtesy. The ugly side of their rivalry was played out on the screen in front of men, women and children who lived around them.

When the video ended, I removed the thumbdrive. “For the younger of you, that is not an appropriate way to interact with neighbours,” I said into the silent room. “Given this behaviour, I will be extremely reluctant to repeat this summer’s access. Certainly if either of these individuals, much less both, are in positions of authority.”

Brenda shot to her feet. “You have no vote here, and no right to record me!”

“You were on my land, Ms Michaels. I can record whatever I want there. But you are correct. I have no vote and I only have such voice as I have been granted.” I turned away from her. “Thank you for your time, folks.”

With that I left not only the podium, but also the community centre. There was no point in my staying for the vote.

I got a call around 9pm, caller ID said it was Karen. “Good evening.”

“This is the president of the Hillfields HOA,” she said brightly.

“Are you trying to annex my lot now?” I asked her.

She laughed. “Not even for your pool, lovely as it is.”

“Congratulations on your election.”

“I think we both know you torpedoed the alternatives,” she told me. “I think I’d have won anyway, but with your footage it was a slam dunk.”

“I think a certain audio recording had something to do with it,” I reminded her. “So what do you do now?”

Karen chuckled grimly. “Permit applications. Even if you were willing, your patio isn’t a substitute for proper paths. I want at least three linking the two subdivisions and preferably a road access, even if it’s just for emergencies.”

I nodded. Part of the conversations with Karen and Stuart had involved trying to find suitable spots for such access. It really wasn’t difficult to find them and we could probably have opened access with the three of us and some hand tools to clear fencing. But no, they would need permits and insured workers. This needed to be done right. “I can be flexible over exactly when I close my gates.”

“No,” she said sharply. “Do exactly what you said. We need to be clear and clean. Not using persona agendas.” Then her voice softened. “Of course, you’re offering to open one gate to admit a friendly neighbour when they’re invited…”

The summer ended and I held another party that Monday to mark the closure of the gate to public traffic. The same friends came over, plus Karen who was happy to enjoy my pool as an invited guest. I’d invited Stuart but he decided he wanted to oversee the workmen opening up the first of the new paths. He wanted it done before the weekend.

“Are we going to have your crazy neighbour complaining about noise again?” asked Ewan.

I shook my head. “I doubt it. She’s not in charge any more, and the new president knows where the property line is.”

Karen pulled herself up out of the pool. “That’s me,” she added for clarification.

“I can tell Ray thinks it’s an improvement,” Ewan joked and I glowered at him.

“She could still make a complaint,” Katie said cautiously.

“I don’t think she’s home today,” Karen told us, picking up a towel and scrubbing her wet hair with it. “House hunting.”

“She’s moving out?” I asked in surprise.

“Never underestimate a woman’s pride,” she replied. “She and Barbara both have for sale signs up.” The signs at either end of my backyard were both gone, and true to the workmen’s promise there was almost no sign the one bolted to my wall had ever been there.

“I hope they don’t move to the same suburb,” I muttered. “Unless they’re the only owners there.”

Karen laughed and peered out from under the towel. “That would be fitting, but I’d pity their families.”

“Make sure they pay their dues up to date before they close,” I warned and dove into my pool. On my property, surrounded by only the people I wanted to allow there.