"Trust me," I said. "I already figured that out."
They got into their cruiser and began reversing down the driveway. I watched the taillights fade through the trees until the mountain swallowed the sound completely. Then, for the first time that day, I exhaled.
Silence. A real one. Not the Karen-enhanced, police-flavored chaos that had been dominating my morning.
But that silence also made something else ring loud inside me: this wasn't over. Not yet.
I walked back toward the cabin, stepping over the imprint of Karen's boots in the dirt. That damn orange cord still lay across the porch like the shed skin of some dead electric snake. I followed it back to the outlet and crouched beside it. There were scratches all around the plastic plate, tiny marks from repeated plugging and unplugging. She hadn't used it once or twice. She'd used it often.
I rubbed a thumb across the surface, trying to guess just how many weeks she'd been leeching off me. My bill history told one story, but my gut told me something bigger was happening here—something she wasn't clever enough to pull off alone.
What if she wasn't stealing just from me? What if she'd been stealing from other cabins, too?
The idea settled into me like a splinter, small but impossible to ignore. I stood and scanned the treeline. From this angle, you could see the slope leading down toward the other properties. There were old paths, game trails, and narrow walkable cuts between trees that locals used to move between homes when they didn't feel like taking the long route around the road. If she dragged that cord down one of those paths, maybe she dragged others from different homes. Maybe this wasn't her first rodeo.
I wanted answers, and I wanted them soon. But before I went hunting for more proof, I needed to secure my own place.
So I went inside, grabbed a pair of wire cutters, and headed back outside. The satisfying snip of the cord, cleanly separating, echoed across the porch. I tossed Karen's end into the woods—let her dig for it if she wanted. Then I unscrewed the exterior outlet cover and replaced it with a locking outdoor box, the kind that requires a key to open.
Was it overkill? Probably. But then again, I'd never had to protect my home from a full-grown woman acting like electricity belonged to the public domain.
After I finished, I went back inside and double-checked every breaker, appliance, and plug. Everything was off except the fridge and emergency lights. The meter outside slowed to a gentle crawl, finally reflecting the use of a normal, sane human being. For the first time since arriving, I felt my shoulders loosen.
I made myself a cup of coffee, sat on the porch, and tried to relax. But my brain wouldn't let go of the lingering question: Was Karen acting alone, or was I just the first one smart enough to catch her?
I didn't have to wait long to find out.
An hour later, I heard soft steps coming from the dirt road. I turned and saw an older man, maybe in his 70s, walking with the help of a wooden cane. He had the look of someone who'd lived in the mountains long enough to become part of them: suntan skin, weatherbeaten jacket, gray beard trimmed short.