Jenkins walked carefully to the edge of the asphalt and peered down into the water. He then looked across at me.
"Morning, Noah," Jenkins called out.
"Morning, Officer," I replied. "Lovely day for some private property maintenance."
Jenkins turned to Brenda. "Mrs. Carmichael, did he damage the gate?"
"He took the bridge! He can't just take the bridge!"
"Actually, ma'am, he can," Jenkins said, his voice dropping into a stern, professional register. "We established yesterday that the bridge is his private property. You stated on the record that the HOA's jurisdiction ends at the asphalt. He hasn't touched your gate; he simply relocated his own structural assets."
"But the gate leads to nowhere!" Brenda stammered. "It's a death trap!"
"Yes, it is," Jenkins agreed, pulling a notepad from his pocket. "Which brings us to a new problem. Mrs. Carmichael, you erected a gate on a public-facing community road that opens directly into a lethal ten-foot drop. That is a massive violation of the county safety code. I'm going to have to call the zoning commission and the environmental inspector."
The color drained from Brenda's face. "The... the environmental inspector?"
Within two hours, the end of Sycamore Drive looked like a crime scene. A representative from the county zoning office, Inspector Miller, arrived. Miller took one look at the concrete pillars anchoring the gate and started violently shaking his head.
"Who permitted this?" Miller demanded, looking at Brenda and Greg.