Jack and I had only spent one night in the house. It was a small, single-story rental tucked into a sleepy suburb. Tan bricks. Green shutters. A patchy lawn that looked like it hadn’t seen a hose since spring.

We were here on a short-term work assignment. Nothing permanent. Nothing thrilling.

We had just unpacked the coffee maker when the doorbell rang.

Jack groaned. “We don’t even have curtains up yet.”

I peeked through the peephole. “Looks like the Welcome Committee’s arrived.”

He joined me. “Yikes. She’s holding cookies.”

I opened the door.

There stood a woman in a pastel pink cardigan, matching headband, and blindingly white capri pants. Her smile was bright—but her eyes? Way too alert for someone just offering baked goods.

“Hi there!” she chirped. “I’m Lindsey. I live right across the street. Just wanted to stop by and say hello!”

She held out a tray of chocolate chip cookies. Perfect rows. Not a crumb out of place.

“Well, thank you,” I said, accepting the tray.

Jack gave her a lazy wave. “Appreciate it.”

Her smile didn’t waver, but her eyes darted behind us—over my shoulder, then Jack’s. She leaned in slightly, peering past us.

I stepped sideways, blocking her view. She casually scanned our hallway and living room anyway.

“You folks settling in okay?” she asked, blinking rapidly.

“Yep,” I said slowly. “Moved in yesterday.”

“Such a lovely neighborhood,” she said, still studying the interior. “Quiet. Clean. Very… orderly.”

Jack crossed his arms. “We’re just here for work. No plans to disturb the peace.”

“Oh, of course!” she said brightly. “Just wanted to say welcome. And one quick thing…”

Here it comes—the pivot from pleasantries to pettiness.

“Our HOA—very friendly, but firm—has a rule about cars. Only one per household in the driveway.”

“One car?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, smile tightening. “No exceptions. Keeps things tidy.”

Jack frowned. “We’re not parking on the street. Both cars fit on the driveway.”

“I know,” she replied with a tilt of her head. “But it’s still two cars. One house. One driveway. One car.”

“We’re temporary,” I said. “Not permanent residents.”

“Rules apply to everyone,” she said with a forced grin. “That’s the beauty of it.”

“Well, thanks for the cookies,” Jack said flatly.

“Enjoy them!” she beamed. “I’m sure you’ll settle in just fine.”

We shut the door.

“She looked at me like I was running a cartel in the living room,” I muttered.

“She’s definitely memorized our plates already,” Jack said.

“Let her. She’s just bored.”

Jack shrugged. “Cookies smell decent, though.”

Three days later, I woke to a strange sound. It was early—still dark.

Clank. Clank. Whirrr.

Jack sat up, groggy. “What the hell is that?”

I pulled back the curtain. Froze.

“Jack. Outside. Now.”

We rushed to the door, barefoot, half-dressed.

Two tow trucks. In our driveway. Both cars mid-air.

“HEY!” I shouted. “What’s going on?!”

One of the drivers barely looked up. “HOA violation. One car per household. Orders came in this morning.”

“No warning? No notice?” Jack barked.

That’s when we saw her.

Lindsey.

She stood on the sidewalk in a lavender robe, arms folded, sipping coffee. Her smirk stretched ear to ear.

“WOW,” I said loudly. “You really did it, huh?”

Her smile twitched. “What’s so funny?”

I strolled toward her.

“Nothing,” I said coolly. “Just that you owe us twenty-five thousand dollars now.”

She blinked. “What—what do you mean?”

Jack walked up beside me. I pointed to the tiny sticker on the back windshield of my car—barely noticeable unless you knew.

She squinted. “What… is that?”

I didn’t answer. I just smiled and turned away.

“Wait—hey! I asked you a question!”

We didn’t turn back. Just closed the door—soft and final.

“She’s gonna spiral over that sticker,” Jack muttered, collapsing on the couch.

“She should.”

We never touched the cookies. They sat untouched on the counter—like an offering from a failed peace treaty.

That night, I made a call.

Short. Clipped. Direct.

“We’ve got a situation. Civilian interference. Property tampering. You might want to send someone.”

A pause. Then a calm reply: “Understood.”

Click.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “They’re coming?”

I nodded. “Early.”

He grinned. “Good. I want her wide awake when it happens.”

By sunrise, we stepped outside. Right on cue, a black SUV turned the corner and stopped in front of Lindsey’s house.

The man who stepped out was dressed like a movie agent: crisp black suit, dark sunglasses, not a hair out of place. He nodded at me. I nodded back.

Together, we walked to Lindsey’s porch. I rang the bell.

The door creaked open.

Lindsey appeared in a pink robe, messy bun, and a “Live, Laugh, Love” mug in both hands.

She blinked. “Um… hello?”

The agent didn’t smile. He flipped open a badge.

“Ma’am, due to your actions yesterday morning, you are now under investigation for interfering with an active undercover federal operation.”

Her face drained. “What… operation?”

“You had two marked federal vehicles towed,” he said. “You compromised two embedded officers.”

“I didn’t know!” she gasped. “I thought—I was just following HOA rules!”

“You failed to verify the vehicles. As a result, you disrupted an ongoing investigation. Damages total twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Her mouth opened. The mug slipped and shattered on the porch.

Jack stepped forward. “Maybe next time, don’t try to play sheriff of suburbia.”

She looked at the shards like they held answers.

The agent added, “You’ll be contacted. Do not leave the area. Do not contact anyone involved.”

He turned and left.

I gave her one last look. “Next time, just bake the cookies. And leave it at that.”

We walked home in silence.

Lindsey never said a word.

Her door stayed cracked. Her blinds never opened again. And her once-perfect rose bushes?

They never bloomed the same way after that.