"Ms. Sundquist," she said. "I understand you called the sheriff's department."
"I did."
"I'd like to remind you that the Association acted entirely within its rights under the Declaration. Article Nine gives the Board the authority to enter any Lot to abate a violation." She opened the folder. "And I'd like to give you an opportunity to resolve this before it goes any further."
"That's kind of you," I said. "Would you like some coffee?"
She blinked. I don't think she'd prepared for coffee. "No. Thank you."
"Sit down, at least. It's going to be ninety-five by noon."
She hesitated, then sat on the edge of the other porch chair with the folder on her knees. Splice came over and inspected her shoes, and she let him, and even reached down absently and touched his ear. I noticed that. I filed it away.
"Here's the situation," she said. "Since March, the Association's electric bill for the amenity center has more than doubled. Our average monthly bill in the previous fiscal year was nine hundred and forty dollars. This August, it was two thousand, seven hundred and eighteen. That's a significant hit to a budget funded entirely by homeowners, including you. The Board has a fiduciary duty to find out why."
"I agree with every word of that," I said.
That threw her for a second, but she kept going. "We have photographs of your extension cords running across neighboring properties. We have multiple residents who observed your home fully lit during the May outage, when every other home in this subdivision was without power. And we have this." She took out a printed photo of my meter socket, the blank plate, the seal. "There is no meter on your house. You don't have an account with the electric co-op. I checked. I called them. They told me there was no active service at this address."
"That's right."
"So you're telling me you live in a house with central air and a full kitchen and a riding lawn mower and nobody bills you for electricity?"