I headed back up the trail, pacing faster than before. When I reached the cabin, my phone buzzed again. This time, a text from Randall: Saw Karen's brother pull up to her place just now. Might cause trouble. Just a heads up.
Fantastic. Just what I needed. A supporting cast member for Karen's circus.
I locked the cabin door and grabbed my keys. Time to head down to the sheriff's office before any new nonsense erupted.
The drive to town was peaceful, at least visually. The mountains rolled like giant waves, frozen and green. The kind of scenery that usually calms the mind. But my mind wasn't calm. It was ticking, organized, focused, methodical. I replayed Karen's tantrum: the lies, the cord, her home setup, all of it forming a pattern of entitlement, desperation, and a reckless belief that rules didn't apply to her.
When I pulled into the sheriff's substation lot, Detective Harris was already standing outside, leaning against the doorframe—tall, broad shoulders, gray in his beard, the look of a man who preferred facts over drama.
Good. I had facts.
"Mr. Dalton?" he asked.
"That's me."
He led me inside to a small room—not an interrogation room, nothing dramatic, just a desk, two chairs, and a coffee maker that looked older than I was. He motioned for me to sit. "Let's start from the beginning," he said.
I walked him through everything, handing over the folder with photos, meter logs, timestamps, and the new evidence: the broken adapter piece I'd found on the trail.
He inspected it closely. "That's a melted ground adapter. Looks like someone's been overloading some circuits."
"Wouldn't surprise me," I said. "She's running a space heater, AC, fridge, microwave, all through extension cords—and not just mine."
He looked up sharply. "Explain."
So, I told him about the blue cord that led uphill. Detective Harris sat back, tapping the table thoughtfully. "We've had complaints the past few months," he admitted. "Flickering lights, breaker trips, odd meter spikes. We chalked it up to old wiring and storms." He narrowed his eyes. "But if what you're saying is right, she's been leeching off multiple cabins."
I finished. He exhaled slowly. "This is worse than I thought."
I expected him to be shocked. Instead, he looked tired, like a man who had seen variations of the same problem for years, but was always one witness short of stopping it.
"Karen has a history," he said quietly. "Petty disputes, noise complaints, some civil issues, nothing criminal until now."
"There's always a first time," I said.
He nodded. "And you might have just given us enough to make it stick."
We spent another half hour refining my statement. Once done, he stood and shook my hand. "Thank you, Mr. Dalton. We'll be moving forward with charges. But between you and me, brace yourself for what's coming. People like her don't go down quietly."
I almost laughed. "You don't say."
He cracked a thin smile. "We'll keep you updated."
I left the station with a mix of relief and adrenaline, feeling like we'd turned a corner. But just as I pulled into the grocery store parking lot to grab supplies before heading back up the mountain, my phone buzzed again: a voicemail from an unknown number.
I played it, and my blood pressure jumped.
"This isn't over!" Karen screamed through the speaker. Her voice cracked, furious, borderline feral. "You think you can get me arrested? I'll sue you! I'll take your cabin! You messed with the wrong woman. Just wait."
The message ended with a slam like she'd thrown the phone.
I listened twice just to be sure I wasn't imagining it. She was out already, which meant her brother or someone had bailed her out fast.
"Fantastic," I muttered.
I sat in my truck for a long moment, gripping the steering wheel. She was coming back. Of course, she was. But this time, she wasn't walking onto my property with a cord. No, she'd come with rage, lies, and the full fire of someone who'd been publicly embarrassed. And as much as I wanted to believe the worst was behind me, I knew in my gut that the mountain wasn't done with Karen yet. Not even close.
I sat there in the grocery store parking lot, gripping the steering wheel as Karen's unhinged voicemail echoed in my head. The whole thing felt unreal, like the start of one of those true crime podcasts where the host says, And that's when things took a darker turn.
But this wasn't a podcast. This was my life, my mountain, my piece of mind shredded by one entitled woman who thought electricity grew like berries on a bush.
I stared out at the parking lot for another minute, letting the voicemail sink in. She was out of custody way too fast. Either the charges hadn't been processed yet, or someone bailed her out immediately—maybe the mysterious brother Randall mentioned, maybe she'd charmed someone, maybe she'd screeched until someone couldn't take it anymore. Regardless, I didn't like the idea of her being loose and angry.
I clicked my phone off and forced myself to breathe. I wasn't going to be bullied back into my truck with fear. I wasn't going to let her dictate how I lived my life in the mountains. I'd bought that cabin to get away from chaos, not to invite more of it.
So, I walked inside the store, grabbed what I needed, and headed back up the mountain road. Every twist of that winding road felt heavier than usual. The trees seemed closer. Shadows stretched longer across the gravel. I kept checking my mirrors—not because I expected to see Karen tailing me, but because I wouldn't have put it past her to follow me from the station in some dramatic attempt to confront the liar she decided I was.
But thankfully, no white SUV appeared behind me.
By the time I reached my driveway, the sun had dipped low enough that the sky looked bruised: purple edges, final streaks of pink fading behind the ridge. I pulled into my usual spot, shut off the engine, and just listened.
Silence. Real silence. No shouting, no police radios, no entitled banshee screaming about community electricity. It was almost eerie.
I grabbed my groceries and walked toward the porch, glancing around the property as I went. The orange extension cord still lay where I'd tossed it earlier. I left it there, let it rot in the dirt like a monument to stupidity.