"Not here it doesn't," I said. "If someone climbs my fence, it creates a 911 call."
She blinked. The sound was almost audible. "Are you threatening legal action?"
"I'm promising it. There's a difference."
A black SUV crept along the road behind the treeline—another board member, perhaps, doing reconnaissance from the climate-controlled safety of a leather seat. Skyler clocked it but didn't wave. She was in a scene and didn't want to ruin the blocking.
"Okay," she said, brisk again, back to the bullet points. "Let's talk compromises. Would you consider allowing access for scheduled events? We have a community wedding coming up—Cindy Howard's daughter."
"Congratulations to Cindy," I said. "They can rent the marina pavilion two coves over like everyone else."
Skyler pressed her lips together in a way that suggested Cindy Howard's daughter had never stood in line for anything. "And baptisms?" she asked. "It's a lake. It's tradition."
"My dock isn't a church," I said. "And if it were, I'd be the pastor. Pastors don't let strangers rewire the altar because it has nice lighting."
"Wow," she said softly. "Okay, I see. You're that type."
"What type is that?"
"The type who thinks private property is a personality." She smiled again, glittering edges back on. "We'll see about that."
"Skyler," I said, lowering the board and meeting her sunglasses dead on, "if I walked into your backyard, set up a grill, and left beer cans in your pool skimmer, what would you call that?"
Something changed in her shoulders—a small retreat, quickly covered. "That would never happen. We have a gate."
"So do I," I said. "Two, in fact. They'll be closed."
She jotted something on her clipboard with the satisfaction of a person who likes to write the words she plans to weaponize later. "We'll be in touch," she said, pivoted sharp military, and started up the path, sandals scraping a farewell that sounded like filing an appeal.
"Hey, Skyler," I called after her.