The Neighborhood Watch Trap
…text her: “Hey, why don’t you come over to the back patio? I’ve got the fire pit going, a bottle of wine, and the ‘old ball and chain’ is finally gone for the night. Wear that silk robe I saw you in the other day. And don’t wear anything underneath.”
My husband, Mark, watched me type it, shaking his head with a grin. He had been the one to tell me about her advances immediately; we were a team, and we were tired of her disrespect.
“Are you sure about this?” Mark asked.
“Positive,” I said. “She likes an audience? Let’s give her one.”
It was the night of our monthly Neighborhood Watch meeting. Usually, these were boring affairs with coffee and donuts inside, but tonight, I had told everyone to park a block away and gather quietly in our backyard for a “special presentation.”
I had twenty neighbors—including Mrs. Higgins, the biggest gossip in the county, and the strict HOA president—sitting in the shadows of our large patio. I killed the main floodlights, leaving only the dim glow of the fire pit where Mark sat with his back to the gate.
