"Let's follow the cord," the younger officer said.
Karen immediately threw herself in front of them like a frantic soccer goalie. "No, you can't go down there! That's my private property."
The tall officer looked her dead in the eye. "If the cord is connected to stolen electricity, we have cause to inspect it."
I almost burst out laughing at the expression on her face. Watching Karen grapple with the realization that the police weren't dancing to her tune was like watching a cartoon villain realize their plan had a giant hole in it.
She stomped. Her foot literally stomped like a 5-year-old denied candy. "This is harassment," she shrieked. "I know my rights."
"So do we," the younger officer replied calmly.
And then the three of us—me and two officers—began walking down the slope, following the orange cord. Karen followed behind us, shouting threats, half-truths, insults, and dramatic pleas to the universe.
The deeper we went into the woods, the uglier the trail became: broken branches, footprints, and tire ruts from a wheelbarrow. At the bottom of the hill, tucked behind a clump of overgrown rhododendrons, was her house. Calling it a house might be generous. It looked like someone took a mobile home, wrapped it in aluminum siding, and prayed it wouldn't fall apart in the next storm.
And there it was. The orange cord ran straight into her living room window. Inside, visible even from the yard, were a rattling mini fridge, a space heater glowing red, two lamps, a TV, a microwave, and—God help me—an ancient AC unit duct-taped to the wall.
The younger officer whistled long and low. "Well, that's a lot."
The tall officer turned to Karen, who now looked like she might either faint or combust. "Ma'am, is there any reason you didn't mention you had multiple appliances running on a cord connected to someone else's property?"
"I needed it," she shouted. "It's cold, and my food will spoil, and the TV... I mean, I need it for safety. Noise scares away bears."
I couldn't stop myself. "There are no bears on this side of the ridge."
"Shut up," she screamed at me, which only made her look worse.
The tall officer radioed something in, then motioned for her to stand aside while he photographed everything. Karen kept pacing, ranting about injustice and corrupt utility companies and how neighbors are supposed to help each other while simultaneously telling them she never met me before today. The contradiction didn't help her.