The room had gone very quiet. Somebody's chair creaked.
Karen smiled at me. It was a terrific smile, warm, sorry for me. "Thank you, Nell. We're always happy to receive requests from members. We'll respond in due course, consistent with our obligations."
"The statute requires a reasonable time," I said. "I'd ask that it be within thirty days."
"We'll respond," Karen said, "in due course." She took the envelope from me. She held it by one corner as if it were damp. And then she did something I didn't expect, which was to turn to the room and keep talking.
"And while we're on the subject of photographs," she said, "I think this is a good opportunity to mention something several residents have raised with me privately. Some of you may have noticed a resident who goes around the neighborhood at dawn with a camera. On a tripod, sometimes. Pointed at people's homes." She did not look at me. She didn't have to; every head in the room had already turned. "Now, I'm sure there's an explanation. But I've had mothers come to me concerned. This is a family community. We have children who wait for the school bus on these corners. And I think all of us have a right to feel that we're not being — watched."
There was a murmur. Not everyone in that room knew me. Wren Hollow had a hundred and eighty houses, and most people's world was the eight or ten closest to their own.
"I photograph seven trees," I said, and I was annoyed to hear my voice wobble. "For a university research project. The board approved it in writing in 2023. The pictures are public. They're on the university's website. Anyone can look at them."
"The previous board," Karen said gently, "may have approved something. I'm not aware of it. But I am aware" — and now she looked at her laptop, as if reading — "that there are metal stakes driven into the association's common area, without an approved encroachment agreement, which is a violation of Section 4.1 of the Declaration and a liability hazard for our landscaping contractor. We'll be addressing that." She looked up and smiled again. "Thank you, Nell. Next?"
Gus stood up behind me, red in the face, and Priya caught his sleeve.
"Not here," she murmured. "Not yet."
* * *