There was no reason yet to suspect the delay was anything more than paperwork.

He had driven the Mustang only three times since moving into Maple Ridge. On the third, a woman in a navy blazer stepped in front of his driveway with a binder under her arm.

“You must be the new owner,” she said, smiling without warmth. “Vivien Hartman. Homeowners’ association president.”

“Elijah Grant. Nice to meet you.”

Vivien looked at the car, then at the man, then at the car again. “Well. That will certainly attract attention.”

He thought she was joking.

He would learn that Vivien rarely joked when she could instead issue instructions.

CHAPTER 2: THE WOMAN WHO OWNED THE SIDEWALK

Vivien Hartman lived four houses down, behind tall hedges shaped into severe green walls. The house had a three-car garage, stone columns, and a front door large enough to suggest that every visitor was arriving for an important announcement. Her husband, Gregory, was a tax attorney. Her son, Logan, was seventeen, recently licensed, and accustomed to his mother removing consequences before they reached him.

Vivien carried the HOA binder the way a judge carries a ruling.

“We run a tight ship,” she told Elijah. “Your moving truck stayed past curfew by two minutes. I’ll let it go because you’re new. But compliance makes good neighbors.”

“I appreciate the warning.”

“And you’ll need to submit the Mustang for an exterior-appearance review.”

“It’s parked inside my garage.”

“Yes, but people may see it when the door is open.”

Elijah waited, expecting her to hear herself. She did not.

“I’ll read the bylaws,” he said.

That afternoon, Sandra Mills walked across the lawn with a paper plate of lemon bars. Sandra was a retired school principal whose voice could quiet an auditorium without a microphone. She had lived beside Elijah’s new house for fourteen years and had learned to distinguish harmless eccentricity from organized intimidation.

“Did Vivien welcome you?” she asked.

“She brought a book.”

“She likes books as long as she’s the only one who gets to interpret them.”

Elijah laughed.

Sandra did not.

“Keep copies of everything she sends you,” she said. “I’m serious.”