"Well," said Officer Ybarra, who had come out from her office and was standing by the front desk with her arms crossed. "There he is."
"Thank you," I said, into his fur.
"Don't thank me yet," she said. "The nuisance complaint's separate. The HOA filed that one as a board, and the board hasn't withdrawn it. The hearing on that's still on." She uncrossed her arms. "And the samples are still at the lab."
Candace came to my door the next morning.
I'd like to tell you I didn't open it. I opened it. She stood on my porch in a pale blue cardigan holding a foil-covered casserole dish, and her hair was as perfect as ever, but there were gray hollows under her eyes that makeup hadn't quite reached and a fine tremor in the dish.
Rook came to the door behind me. Candace looked at him and took a half step back, the way she had the very first day, and caught herself, and stayed.
"Bernie," she said. "I wanted to come by personally. I've been thinking a lot. I think things got out of hand, and I think I let my own fears get the better of me." She glanced at Rook and away. "I'm glad he's home. I am. And I've spoken with the board. We'd like to put all of this behind us. We're prepared to waive the outstanding fines, all of them, and withdraw the nuisance complaint, and I'd be happy to make a statement on the app saying that the matter's been resolved." She held out the casserole. "It's chicken and wild rice. I didn't know if you were eating."
I looked at her for a long time.
"I don't think I can take that, Candace."
"It's just a casserole."