"You should know," he said carefully. "Karen's been in trouble before. Not officially, but she's crossed lines more than once. People were too polite or too tired to fight her."
"Not anymore," I said. "I'm not letting this slide."
He nodded approvingly. "Good. Keep your eyes open. She'll fight this tooth and nail before she admits fault."
"I figured as much."
He stood slowly, brushing pine needles off his jacket. "If you need anything, you come by my place down the hill. Name's Randall."
"Thanks, Randall," I said.
"Seriously," he tipped his head. "Take care now and watch your outlets."
With that, he walked back down the dirt path and disappeared among the trees.
I sat there, letting his words settle in. This wasn't just about a cord or a few dollars of electricity. It was about someone who carried entitlement like a weapon, someone who believed rules didn't apply to her, someone who needed to be stopped. And I had a feeling the next steps were going to be even uglier and a whole lot more complicated than catching a thief with a bright orange cord. But one thing was absolutely certain: Karen had picked the wrong mountain, the wrong cabin, and the wrong engineer to mess with.
Randall's visit lingered with me long after he disappeared down the trail. The man had only stayed for a few minutes, but he dropped enough information to light a fuse inside my head. Karen hadn't just stolen from me. She'd been creeping around other properties, messing with outlets, sneaking through back trails, and most folks, according to him, were either too intimidated or too exhausted to deal with her.
I wasn't intimidated. And after everything she'd pulled, I sure as hell wasn't exhausted. If anything, I was fired up.
But before diving deeper into the Karen mystery, I needed to get my formal statement ready for the sheriff's office. They'd be calling soon, and being thorough mattered. So, I went inside, grabbed my notebook, and began reconstructing the timeline with engineer-level precision: meter readings, breaker tests, cord direction, times, dates, everything. It wasn't paranoia; it was preparation. When someone like Karen starts acting cornered, lies become their first language and volume their second.
Around late afternoon, my phone finally rang. Unknown number, county sheriff's office.
The man on the other end introduced himself as Detective Harris. His tone was firm but polite, the kind of guy who had probably seen every flavor of mountain nonsense imaginable.
"Mr. Dalton," he said. "We've reviewed the initial report submitted by officers Daniels and Cole. We'd like to schedule a formal interview with you whenever you're ready."