{"id":21770,"date":"2026-10-11T15:16:59","date_gmt":"2026-10-11T15:16:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lifechaptersusa.online\/?p=21770"},"modified":"2026-10-11T15:17:00","modified_gmt":"2026-10-11T15:17:00","slug":"my-garage-door-was-painted-black-again-and-again-then-my-cameras-revealed-who-was-responsible","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lifechaptersusa.online\/?p=21770","title":{"rendered":"My Garage Door Was Painted Black Again and Again\u2014Then My Cameras Revealed Who Was Responsible"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Someone kept ruining my freshly painted garage door just days before our neighborhood\u2019s biggest competition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I found out who was behind it, I decided to give the judges a show they\u2019d never forget.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bottom half of my white garage door was covered in black paint.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I noticed it while taking out the trash before work on Friday morning. I had the bag in one hand and my coffee in the other, and I was halfway down the driveway before my brain caught up with my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At first, I thought I was seeing things. A shadow, maybe. A trick of the early light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I walked closer and saw the thick, uneven strokes running across the panels. Big sloppy swipes, like someone had used a roller and didn\u2019t care where it went. The paint had dripped down onto the concrete in little black tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I dropped the trash bag right there in the driveway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cToby!\u201d I shouted toward the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My husband appeared on the porch in his work shirt and socks, still holding his coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pointed at the garage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho the hell would do something like this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby came down the steps slowly. He stared at the door for a long moment. Then he sighed, the same sigh he uses when the dishwasher breaks or the Cowboys lose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cProbably teenagers. You know how those kids from the high school get.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had a point. The school was only a few blocks away, and we\u2019d occasionally found toilet paper in our trees or empty soda cans scattered across the lawn. Last Halloween someone smashed every pumpkin on the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But this was different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This wasn\u2019t a prank you laugh off. This was ugly. This was somebody standing in my driveway in the middle of the night, taking their time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Someone had ruined it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You have to understand how much work went into that house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For months, I\u2019d worked to make it beautiful. I\u2019m not a professional anything. I do billing for a dental office. But every spring I turn into a woman possessed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019d planted roses along the front walk, three different colors, and hydrangeas under the windows that I fed coffee grounds to keep them blue. I\u2019d trimmed the hedges until they were practically symmetrical. Toby once caught me out there with a tape measure and asked if I needed professional help. I\u2019d decorated the porch with hanging flower baskets that I watered every single evening, even when it rained, because rain doesn\u2019t always hit the baskets right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And Toby had repainted the garage door just three weeks earlier. A crisp, clean white. He spent two whole Saturdays on it, sanding and priming, muttering the whole time, and when he was done he stood back and said, \u201cOkay. That\u2019s the best thing I\u2019ve ever painted.\u201d Which wasn\u2019t saying much, because the only other thing he\u2019d ever painted was our bathroom, and it still had a streak of blue on the ceiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And now someone had ruined it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What made it worse was that the annual Maple Grove neighborhood beautification competition was only days away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019d won last year. And I desperately wanted to win again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The prize was a thousand-dollar gift certificate to Greenleaf, the garden center out on Route 9. But honestly, the money wasn\u2019t the main thing. Last year, when the judges announced my name at the block party and handed me that little wooden plaque that said BEST IN MAPLE GROVE, I had to step behind the snow cone table so nobody would see me tear up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For years I\u2019d been the woman with the nice yard. That plaque meant someone had noticed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry,\u201d Toby said, squeezing my shoulder. \u201cWe\u2019ll fix it Saturday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe shouldn\u2019t have to fix it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know. But we will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And we did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Saturday, we spent practically the entire afternoon cleaning and repainting the door. Toby scraped and sanded the worst parts while I taped off the edges. It was hot. The paint fumes gave me a headache. Toby got white paint in his eyebrow and didn\u2019t notice for an hour, and I didn\u2019t tell him because it was the only funny thing that happened all day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Around three o\u2019clock, our neighbor Kelsie stopped by.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie lived right next door. She was in her fifties, divorced, with short silver-blonde hair she kept perfectly styled and a garden that was almost as nice as mine. Almost. She\u2019d come in second last year. And the year before that. She always said the same thing at the block party: \u201cWell, there\u2019s always next year!\u201d with a big smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That afternoon she was wearing her quilted green jacket, the one she wore everywhere. Gardening, grocery shopping, church. I\u2019d seen that jacket so many times I could have picked it out of a lineup.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh my gosh,\u201d she said, walking up the driveway with her hand over her heart. \u201cThat\u2019s awful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell me about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho would do something like this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wish I knew.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd right before the judges come! Can you imagine if they\u2019d seen it?\u201d She shook her head. \u201cSome people have no respect.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shook her head sympathetically, and I thanked her for caring. She even brought us two bottles of cold water from her fridge, which I appreciated more than I can say. I remember thinking, This is why I love this street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By evening, our garage looked perfect again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby and I sat on the porch steps with pizza and admired it in the sunset.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSee?\u201d he said. \u201cGood as new.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBetter than new.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t say that. You\u2019ll jinx it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I opened the curtains Sunday morning, my stomach dropped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The black paint was back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Same sloppy strokes. Same drips. Maybe even worse this time, because it went higher, almost to the handle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stood at the window, staring at the garage in disbelief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou have got to be kidding me!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby came running downstairs in his boxers. When he saw the fresh black paint, his expression darkened. He didn\u2019t sigh this time. He just stood there with his jaw tight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d he said. \u201cThis isn\u2019t some stupid teenage prank anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTeenagers don\u2019t come back the next night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he agreed. \u201cThey don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went out in my robe and stood in front of the door. The paint was dry. Whoever did it had come early, hours before dawn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While I was standing there, I noticed something stuck in the hedge by the side of the garage. I pulled it out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a white shirt. A loose, cotton, button-up kind of shirt, the kind you\u2019d wear gardening. It had black paint smeared all down the front and one sleeve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cToby, look at this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He came over and held it up. \u201cGross. Probably what they wiped their hands on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a woman\u2019s shirt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOr a skinny guy\u2019s.\u201d He shrugged. \u201cOr they stole it off a clothesline. I don\u2019t know, hon. Throw it out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t throw it out. I don\u2019t know why. I balled it up and stuck it in a plastic grocery bag and shoved it on a shelf in the garage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something told me to keep it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We spent the morning asking our neighbors whether they\u2019d noticed anything unusual.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie was out deadheading her petunias. She stood up and shook her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry, honey. I didn\u2019t hear a thing. I sleep like a rock. I wish I could help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John, who lived three houses down, was washing his truck. John was a big guy, sixty-something, retired from the power company. He had broad shoulders and a gray mustache, and he wore the same pair of heavy brown work boots whether he was mowing the lawn or going to a wedding. His wife, Marian, had won the competition four years in a row before she passed. Her roses were still in the front yard. John kept them alive, but barely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry, honey,\u201d he said, wiping his hands on a rag. \u201cSlept straight through. I take those sleeping pills now. Could\u2019ve been a marching band out there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joyce, who lived across the street, was practically furious on our behalf. Joyce was small and wiry, with a short gray bob and enough energy for three people. She ran the neighborhood Facebook group with an iron fist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou should call the police!\u201d she said, so loud people two houses away could probably hear her. \u201cPeople can\u2019t just go around destroying someone\u2019s property! I\u2019m going to post about it. Somebody saw something. Somebody always sees something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks, Joyce.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI mean it! This is Maple Grove, not some\u2014some city.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone seemed genuinely concerned, which somehow made the whole thing even more frustrating. Everyone was so sorry. Everyone was so angry for us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And nobody had seen a thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby and I repainted the garage again Sunday afternoon. We were faster this time, but quieter. Neither of us made jokes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Monday morning brought the same ugly surprise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the third time, someone had covered our door in black paint.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t even scream this time. I just stood at the window holding the curtain, very still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby came up behind me. He looked out. He said a word I won\u2019t repeat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019re watching us,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019re watching us,\u201d I told him again. \u201cThey wait until we fix it, then come back. Every time. They know exactly when we\u2019re done.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby rubbed the back of his neck. \u201cThat\u2019s creepy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not creepy. It\u2019s personal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked down at the driveway. On the edge of the lawn, half in the flower bed, there was something dark lying in the mulch. I went out and picked it up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a work boot. A big brown leather one, size thirteen at least, splattered with black paint and caked with mud from my flower bed. Like someone had run through the hydrangeas so fast it came right off their foot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stood there holding it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo teenagers wear these?\u201d I asked Toby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked at it. \u201cNot any teenager I\u2019ve ever met.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boot went in the garage, in a second grocery bag, next to the white shirt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That afternoon, I ordered two security cameras with same-day delivery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We already had a doorbell camera. Toby installed it two years ago after a package went missing. But it was the cheap kind, and it had stopped sending us alerts a few months after we got it. Toby always said it was broken. We\u2019d joked about it at the Fourth of July barbecue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s basically a decoration,\u201d Toby told everyone, laughing. \u201cA very expensive decoration.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo it\u2019s fake,\u201d Kelsie had said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMight as well be.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everybody laughed. I remembered that, later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The new cameras came at five. We installed them after dark, so nobody would see. Toby stood on the ladder and hid one beneath the roofline facing the garage. We put another near the porch, tucked behind a hanging flower basket, overlooking the yard and the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We told absolutely nobody. Not my sister. Not Toby\u2019s brother. Not Joyce\u2019s Facebook group. Nobody.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, for the first time in three days, we didn\u2019t repaint the garage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat if they don\u2019t come back because it\u2019s already painted?\u201d Toby asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019ll come back,\u201d I said. \u201cThey want it to look worse. It\u2019s not enough to ruin it once. They want it ruined when the judges come.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby climbed down the ladder and dusted off his hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTomorrow morning we\u2019ll finally meet our little artist,\u201d he joked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At 2:30 a.m., my phone buzzed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Motion detected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat straight up in bed. Toby was snoring. I opened the camera feed with my thumb shaking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The image was grainy, black and white, that weird gray-green night-vision color. But I could see enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A figure in a dark hoodie was rolling black paint across our garage door. Slowly. Carefully. Long strokes, from one side to the other. Like they had all the time in the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I watched, frozen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suddenly, the person stepped back, admiring their work. They turned slightly. And they pulled down the hood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The image was grainy, but I recognized that hair. Short. Light. Perfectly styled, even at two-thirty in the morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And under the open hoodie, I recognized that jacket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Quilted. Probably green, though in night vision everything is green.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo way\u2026\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I raced downstairs. I don\u2019t remember putting on my slippers, but later I found them in the hallway, so I must have kicked them off on the way. I went down those stairs so fast I almost fell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I yanked open the front door just as the figure dropped the paint roller.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey! Stop right there!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The woman bolted between the houses, disappearing into the darkness before I even reached the driveway. I heard a gate creak. Then nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stood barefoot on the cold concrete, breathing hard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI saw you!\u201d I yelled into the dark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A dog barked somewhere down the street. Nobody answered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby appeared behind me, barefoot and half-asleep, hair sticking up on one side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat happened? Did you catch someone?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turned toward him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt was Kelsie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He blinked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cKelsie? Our Kelsie?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes! I saw her on the camera!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby looked toward her house next door, where every window was dark. Not a single light. Not even a porch light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut she\u2019s always been so nice to us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cApparently,\u201d I said, \u201cshe\u2019s been nice enough to compliment our house while secretly destroying it!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We hurried inside and replayed the footage at the kitchen table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I hit play. There was the figure, painting. There was the step back. There was the turn toward the camera.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And there was a big, blurry smear where her face should have been.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Unfortunately, the picture wasn\u2019t nearly as clear as I\u2019d thought. On my phone, half-asleep and full of adrenaline, I\u2019d seen Kelsie. On the bigger laptop screen, when she turned toward the camera, the image blurred badly. You could see light hair. You could see a jacket. That was about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I played it again. And again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t really see her face,\u201d Toby admitted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know what I saw.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI believe you, honey. I do. I\u2019ve seen that jacket a hundred times.\u201d He rubbed his eyes. \u201cBut she\u2019ll just deny it. She\u2019ll say a hundred women have that jacket. She\u2019ll say you\u2019re imagining it. And then she\u2019ll go tell everyone on the street you accused her of vandalism with a blurry video.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was right about that too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a moment, I considered marching next door and banging on her door. I imagined it. Her opening the door in a bathrobe, pretending to be sleepy. Me holding up my phone. Her saying, \u201cHoney, what are you talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And me standing there in my nightgown looking like a crazy person.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, I decided I needed something she couldn\u2019t explain away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We returned to the driveway with a flashlight. The abandoned roller and paint tray lay beside the garage, right where she\u2019d dropped them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I crouched down and examined the thick, glossy black paint. It wasn\u2019t cheap stuff. It was heavy and shiny, like it was made to last forever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then an idea struck me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf someone keeps buying this stuff,\u201d I said, \u201csomebody must remember selling it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next morning, I called in sick to work. It was the first time in three years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I photographed the paint, the roller, and the can label, which was half scraped off. Then I drove to our neighborhood hardware store.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I intended to find proof against Kelsie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had absolutely no idea what I was about to discover.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kowalski Hardware was a five-minute drive from our house, a little brick building with a bell over the door and bins of nails you could buy by the pound. I\u2019d been shopping there for years. Every bag of potting soil, every pair of gardening gloves, every hose nozzle. The owner, Frank, knew practically everyone in the neighborhood. He was seventy-something and wore suspenders and remembered your dog\u2019s name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMorning!\u201d he greeted me as the bell jingled. \u201cNeed more gardening supplies? I got that bone meal you wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cActually, Frank, I need your help with something strange.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I explained what had been happening. The three nights. The repainting. I left out Kelsie. I didn\u2019t want to say her name until I was sure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I showed him the photograph of the black paint.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Frank put on his reading glasses and studied it carefully. He held my phone way too close to his face and then way too far.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLooks like heavy-duty exterior enamel,\u201d he said. \u201cOil-based. That stuff\u2019s a nightmare to get off. We carry that exact kind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHas anyone bought it recently?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He scratched his chin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot a lot of people buy black. It\u2019s mostly for railings, mailboxes, that sort of thing.\u201d He thought for a moment. \u201cCome to think of it, John bought a can just a few days ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJohn? From Maple Street?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the one. Big fella, mustache. Lives a few houses down from you, right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John had personally assured us he\u2019d been asleep during the vandalism. Sleeping pills, he said. Could\u2019ve been a marching band.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe said it was for his mailbox,\u201d Frank added. \u201cI didn\u2019t think anything of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John\u2019s mailbox was silver. It had been silver for as long as I\u2019d lived on that street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnyone else?\u201d I asked. My voice sounded strange in my own ears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Frank thought again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, Joyce came in with him earlier this week. Joyce from across the street from you? They spent ages looking at paint samples. Arguing about something. I figured they were working on some neighborhood project.\u201d He chuckled. \u201cJoyce is always working on some neighborhood project.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thanked him. I bought the bone meal, because I didn\u2019t know what else to do with my hands. And I left, barely noticing the bell above the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat in my car in the parking lot for a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie. John. Joyce.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Three people who\u2019d stood in my driveway expressing sympathy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Three people who\u2019d shaken their heads and said awful and who would do this and you should call the police.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joyce had told me to call the police.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back home, I didn\u2019t even take off my coat. I sat down at the kitchen table and opened the laptop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I had a thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The doorbell camera. The broken one. The decoration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby always said it stopped sending alerts. But had it stopped recording?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It took me twenty minutes to remember the password to the app. It was our anniversary plus Toby\u2019s favorite football player\u2019s number, because Toby set it up. When I finally logged in, my heart almost stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The camera hadn\u2019t stopped working. Toby had just turned off the notifications by accident two years ago. It had been quietly recording every bit of motion on our porch and front yard the entire time and saving it to the cloud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Friday night. Saturday night. Sunday night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was all there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The doorbell camera was even worse than the new ones. It was aimed at the porch steps, so the garage was way off on the side of the frame, small and fuzzy. You couldn\u2019t see faces at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But this time, I paid attention to everything except the faces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Friday night, 1:47 a.m. The person was tall and broad-shouldered. They moved slowly, a little stiff, like their back hurt. They were wearing heavy work boots that clomped up the driveway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Saturday night, 3:12 a.m. The second figure was shorter. Smaller. Quick and jittery. They wore a loose white shirt that glowed in the night vision and a pair of sneakers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And last night\u2019s visitor had Kelsie\u2019s familiar jacket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I found the best part.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Friday\u2019s clip kept going after the painting stopped. A car\u2019s headlights swung around the corner at the end of the street, and the tall figure panicked. They ran straight through my flower bed, toward the side of the house, and halfway across, one foot came down in the soft mulch and stayed there. The figure kept going, hopping, one boot on and one sock on, and vanished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Saturday\u2019s clip, the short figure got paint all over the white shirt. They stopped, struggled out of it, and shoved it into my hedge. Then they ran off in a T-shirt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I replayed the clips twice. Then a third time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I went out to the garage and brought in the two grocery bags. I set the boot and the shirt on the kitchen table next to the laptop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I leaned back in my chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

These weren\u2019t random teenagers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My neighbors had been taking turns vandalizing my garage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One each night. Like a schedule. Like a potluck sign-up sheet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The question was no longer who was doing it. It was why three seemingly friendly neighbors wanted my house ruined.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the three recordings and the two grocery bags.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why would Kelsie, John, and Joyce do something like this?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019d had them over for dinner. Joyce had watched our cat when we went to Toby\u2019s mother\u2019s funeral. John had helped Toby jump-start the car in a snowstorm. Kelsie had brought me soup when I had the flu.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I remembered a conversation with Kelsie a few weeks earlier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019d been standing at the property line. She was watering her impatiens. I was trimming the hedge that separated our yards.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour roses look incredible this year,\u201d she\u2019d said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks. I\u2019ve been babying them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWinning twice in a row must be difficult,\u201d she\u2019d said. \u201cPeople might start thinking nobody else has a chance.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the time, I\u2019d laughed. I thought she was joking. I said something like, \u201cOh, please, your petunias are going to destroy me this year.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didn\u2019t laugh back. She just kept watering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then there was John, who\u2019d joked during the Fourth of July barbecue that I should give someone else a turn at winning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMarian used to say that competition was about the neighborhood,\u201d he\u2019d said, holding a hot dog. \u201cNot about one person.\u201d He smiled when he said it. But he didn\u2019t look at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And Joyce\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joyce had been at the same barbecue. She\u2019d come up to me at the potato salad and casually asked whether the competition judges deducted points for damaged paintwork.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLike what kind of damage?\u201d I\u2019d asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, you know. Peeling. Graffiti. Whatever.\u201d She waved her hand. \u201cI\u2019m just curious how strict they are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019d told her I thought they were pretty strict. That presentation was a big part of it. She\u2019d nodded, very thoughtfully, and said, \u201cInteresting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt my face grow hot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, you\u2019ve got to be kidding me,\u201d I said out loud to nobody.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pulled up the competition rules on my laptop. I\u2019d read them a dozen times last year, but I read them again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judges were arriving in two days. Exterior appearance, maintenance, and overall presentation were all part of the scoring. Points were taken off for \u201cvisible neglect, damage, or disrepair.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A garage covered in black paint would certainly hurt my chances.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019re trying to make me lose,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby walked into the kitchen at five-thirty, home from work, loosening his tie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey. How was the hardware store? Did Frank\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stopped. He was looking at the kitchen table. At the boot. At the shirt. At my face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho\u2019s trying to make you lose?\u201d he asked. Because apparently I\u2019d said it out loud again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I explained everything. I showed him the recordings from the doorbell camera. I told him what Frank had said about John and the mailbox and Joyce and the paint samples. I reminded him about the barbecue. About Kelsie at the hedge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby watched each clip with his arms crossed. When the tall figure lost the boot running through my hydrangeas, he picked up the boot from the table and turned it over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSize thirteen,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cJohn\u2019s got feet like canoes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the time I finished, Toby was furious. I\u2019d seen him angry before, but not like this. His ears were red. His hands were in fists.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m going over there right now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was already turning toward the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I caught his arm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019ve been destroying our property! Three nights! Do you know how many hours we spent on that door? Do you know how much that paint cost?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen why are you stopping me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause they\u2019ve already wasted three days of our lives,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m not giving them the satisfaction of watching us beg them to stop.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby frowned. He stood there with his hand on the doorknob.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo what are we supposed to do? Just let them?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I glanced through the window at our half-black garage. In the evening light it looked even worse. Like a bruise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, slowly, I smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI think we\u2019re finally going to let them finish their masterpiece.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby stared at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re joking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot even a little.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I closed my laptop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re not repainting that garage again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHoney.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re leaving it exactly the way it is. For the judges.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He let go of the doorknob and sat down very slowly across from me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m scared. Tell me what you\u2019re thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I already had an idea for what to do instead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That afternoon, I stepped outside at the perfect moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a little after six. Kelsie was watering her flowers in her green jacket, which honestly took some nerve. John was tinkering with something near his driveway, bent over a lawn mower. Joyce stood by her mailbox across the street, flipping through catalogs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perfect audience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I walked down to the end of my driveway and stood right in front of the black garage. I put my hands on my hips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell,\u201d I announced, loud enough for everyone to hear, \u201cToby and I decided we\u2019re done repainting the garage.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie immediately turned off her hose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, honey,\u201d she said, walking over. \u201cThat\u2019s such a shame. Especially with the competition coming up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sighed dramatically. I\u2019m not an actress. But I\u2019d watched enough of Toby\u2019s mother over the years to know how to sigh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI suppose there\u2019s no point trying to win anymore. Every time we fix it, they just come back. We\u2019ll just leave it the way it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John straightened up from his lawn mower.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cProbably for the best,\u201d he called over. \u201cThese competitions aren\u2019t worth getting upset over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s always next year,\u201d Joyce added cheerfully from across the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I watched their faces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie looked positively delighted. She tried to hide it behind a sad little frown, but her eyes were shining. John suddenly seemed very interested in his tools, studying a wrench like it held the secrets of the universe. And Joyce couldn\u2019t quite suppress her smile. It kept creeping up at the corners of her mouth, and she kept pushing it back down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They were terrible actors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Honestly, it was almost insulting. Three days of creeping around my yard in the dark, and they couldn\u2019t even fake being sad for thirty seconds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, if there\u2019s anything I can do,\u201d Kelsie offered, putting a hand on my arm. \u201cI could bring over some cookies. Help you feel better.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cActually,\u201d I said, \u201cI was thinking of inviting everyone over half an hour before the judging starts on Thursday. Just a little get-together to celebrate the neighborhood. Sandwiches. Lemonade. Who cares about the competition, right? It\u2019s about community.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I almost choked on the word community.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The three of them exchanged surprised glances. John looked at Joyce. Joyce looked at Kelsie. Kelsie looked at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then Kelsie beamed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat a wonderful idea!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll bring fruit salad,\u201d Joyce said quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can bring lemonade,\u201d John said. \u201cMarian\u2019s recipe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPerfect,\u201d I said. \u201cTen-thirty on Thursday. Don\u2019t be late.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I smiled and headed inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby was waiting by the kitchen window. He\u2019d watched the whole thing through the blinds like a spy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re really throwing a party for the people who vandalized our garage?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot exactly,\u201d I replied, slipping off my shoes. \u201cI\u2019m giving them front-row seats.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next two days, I was busy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby kept asking what I was doing, and I kept saying, \u201cYou\u2019ll see,\u201d which drove him crazy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On Tuesday night, I called my nephew, Marcus, who was nineteen and worked part-time doing A\/V for weddings. I asked if I could borrow a projector and a portable screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor what, Aunt Jen?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, I should say. My name is Jen. Nobody on Maple Street ever called me that. To them I was always \u201choney.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor a presentation,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat kind of presentation?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe kind where people find out what they did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a long pause. \u201cOkay. I\u2019m in. Do you need me to set it up?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI need you to set it up in my neighbor\u2019s front yard at ten-fifty Thursday morning while she\u2019s at my house eating sandwiches.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Another pause. \u201cIs this legal?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a sidewalk,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s public. You\u2019ll be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCool,\u201d Marcus said. \u201cCan I watch?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On Wednesday morning, I spent two hours at the kitchen table editing the clips. The doorbell camera footage and the new camera footage, all put together in order. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday. I added the date and time on each one in big white letters, like a true crime documentary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby came in, looked over my shoulder, and said, \u201cYou\u2019re scaring me a little bit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On Wednesday afternoon, I went to the craft store and bought a pumpkin, some straw, a wooden stake, and a bag of zip ties.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On Wednesday night, I dug the boot and the white shirt out of their grocery bags.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat are you going to do with those?\u201d Toby asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDecorate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the morning of the competition, Toby found me in the kitchen at seven a.m., already dressed, checking the time on the microwave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRemind me why we\u2019re inviting these people over again?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause I need them all in one place.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat sounds like something a movie villain would say.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I laughed and handed him a plate of sandwiches. Turkey and cheese, cut into triangles. I\u2019d even cut the crusts off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust keep everyone entertained for a while once they get here,\u201d I said. \u201cI have a few things to take care of.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat things?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby narrowed his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been married to you for fifteen years,\u201d he said. \u201cThat answer usually means trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen you know better than to ask questions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked at me for a long time. Then he kissed my forehead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI married a lunatic,\u201d he said fondly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou married a woman with very nice hydrangeas.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSame thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At six a.m., before anyone on the street was awake, I\u2019d already been out. I\u2019ll explain later. Let\u2019s just say that the zip ties had been put to good use, and I\u2019d been very, very quiet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Half an hour before the judges were due, our doorbell rang.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The broken doorbell. The decoration. I smiled at it as I opened the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie arrived first, carrying a plate of chocolate chip cookies wrapped in plastic. She was wearing a floral sundress and, I noticed, no green jacket. John followed with a big glass pitcher of lemonade with lemon slices floating in it. He was wearing sneakers instead of his boots. And Joyce appeared with a bowl of fruit salad and a big, bright smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome in, come in!\u201d I said. \u201cThank you all so much for coming.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWouldn\u2019t miss it,\u201d Kelsie said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I welcomed everyone. I put the cookies on a plate. I put out cups for the lemonade. We exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather, which was perfect, and Joyce\u2019s grandson, who had just started kindergarten, and John\u2019s bad knee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour knee\u2019s bothering you?\u201d I asked John.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLittle bit,\u201d he said. \u201cMust\u2019ve twisted it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRunning?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked at me. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you run? For exercise?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he said slowly. \u201cNo, I don\u2019t run.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHuh,\u201d I said. Then I glanced at my watch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cExcuse me. I just need to finish some preparations.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I caught Toby\u2019s eye before slipping away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He understood his assignment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo!\u201d Toby announced, clapping his hands together loudly as I walked toward the back door. \u201cWho wants to place bets on how many points we\u2019ll lose for our garage?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I heard Kelsie give an uncomfortable laugh as I slipped out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, Toby, don\u2019t be ridiculous.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m serious. Personally, I\u2019m hoping they\u2019ll appreciate the modern art. Very bold. Very mysterious. Black and white. Like a tuxedo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John chuckled. \u201cMaybe you\u2019ll start a trend.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWonderful,\u201d Toby replied. \u201cNext year, I\u2019ll paint the whole house black. Save everyone the trouble of judging.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joyce nearly choked on her lemonade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went out the back door, cut through the side yard, and texted Marcus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He texted back a thumbs-up and a skull emoji.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inside, for the next twenty minutes, Toby kept the conversation going, offering sandwiches and making increasingly ridiculous suggestions for future home improvements. He told me later that he talked about putting a moat around the house. Then a giant inflatable gorilla on the roof. Then a fountain shaped like his own face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the time I returned through the back door, slightly out of breath, Kelsie was laughing at his proposal to replace our entire lawn with artificial grass and plastic flamingos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFifty flamingos,\u201d Toby was saying. \u201cMinimum. Pink ones. And one black one. In honor of the garage.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie\u2019s laugh got a little thinner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then a car pulled up outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I glanced through the window and smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPerfect timing,\u201d I said. \u201cThe judges are here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The three judges stepped out of a silver sedan, carrying clipboards and smiling politely. Two women and a man. I recognized the man from last year. Mr. Patterson. He was the head judge, a retired high school principal, tall and gray with a voice that made you sit up straight even if you hadn\u2019t been in school for thirty years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWelcome!\u201d I called, walking down the driveway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our neighbors followed behind me, still chatting about Toby\u2019s flamingos, holding their lemonade cups.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judges began with my flower beds, admiring the roses and hydrangeas I\u2019d spent months tending.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThese are beautiful,\u201d one of the women said, bending down to look at the hydrangeas. \u201cSuch a deep blue. How do you get them like that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCoffee grounds,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd a lot of talking to them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd your hedges are remarkably neat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you. My husband says I spend more time with them than I do with him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause they listen better!\u201d Toby added.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone laughed. Even Kelsie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judges made notes on their clipboards. They admired the hanging baskets. They admired the walkway. One of the women even took a picture of the roses on her phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then we reached the garage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judges stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Its bottom half was still covered in that ugly black paint, thick and glossy, with drips running down onto the driveway. It contrasted horribly with the clean white panels above. In the bright morning sun, it looked even worse than it did at night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nobody said anything for a long moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One judge raised an eyebrow. Mr. Patterson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s certainly an interesting design choice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Behind him, Kelsie pressed her lips together, barely containing her smile. John suddenly became fascinated with the flowers, bending down to look at my roses like he\u2019d never seen a rose before. And Joyce exchanged a knowing glance with Kelsie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I saw it. That little look. Like two kids who just got away with something in class.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I smiled pleasantly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you. It\u2019s actually part of a larger neighborhood art project.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judges looked intrigued.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAn art project?\u201d one of the women asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, yes. Quite a few people contributed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I glanced toward my neighbors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie\u2019s smile faltered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s very collaborative,\u201d I said. \u201cYou\u2019ll understand when you see the rest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I gestured down the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShall we continue? There\u2019s something I\u2019d love to show you at John\u2019s house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the first time that morning, John stopped smiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We walked down the sidewalk in a little group. The three judges with their clipboards. Toby, holding a plate of cookies for some reason. Kelsie, John, and Joyce, lagging a little behind. And me, leading the way like a tour guide.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As we approached John\u2019s house, one of the judges suddenly stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Beside the sidewalk, at the edge of John\u2019s front yard, stood a decorative weather-vane display. John had put it up years ago. Marian bought it at a craft fair. It was a little iron rooster on a pole with the letters N, S, E, W pointing in every direction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hanging from the rooster\u2019s beak, dangling by its laces, was a big brown work boot. Size thirteen. Completely covered in black paint.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It swung a little in the breeze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell,\u201d Mr. Patterson chuckled. \u201cThat\u2019s certainly creative.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John went pale. I mean really pale. He went the color of skim milk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turned toward him with my sweetest smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJohn, would you like to explain the inspiration?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2026\u201d John stared at the boot. \u201cI don\u2019t know where that came from!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cReally?\u201d I said. \u201cHow strange. It looks just like your boots. The ones you wear everywhere. The ones you\u2019re not wearing today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLots of people have boots like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSize thirteen?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell,\u201d I said brightly. \u201cLet\u2019s keep going.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At Joyce\u2019s house, another surprise awaited us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A scarecrow stood beside her vegetable garden, propped up on a wooden stake. It had a carved pumpkin for a head, with a big wide grin, and straw sticking out of its sleeves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And it was wearing a loose white shirt covered in black paint.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joyce gasped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s my shirt!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The moment it came out of her mouth, she slapped a hand over it. But it was too late. Everyone had heard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I raised my eyebrows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cReally? How interesting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy does it have my clothes?\u201d Joyce said. Her voice had gone very high.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, I found that shirt near my garage,\u201d I said. \u201cStuffed in my hedge on Sunday morning. I figured it deserved a proper display.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joyce opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judges exchanged bewildered glances. One of the women had stopped writing on her clipboard. She was just holding her pen in the air, looking back and forth between me and Joyce like she was watching a tennis match.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie had stopped smiling altogether.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was standing very still at the back of the group, holding her lemonade cup so tight it had started to crumple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne more stop,\u201d I said cheerfully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally, we reached Kelsie\u2019s house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus had done a great job. A projector sat on a little folding table on the sidewalk, plugged into a long orange extension cord that ran all the way back to our garage. A portable white screen stood on a stand in the middle of Kelsie\u2019s perfect front lawn, right in front of her prize-winning petunias. Second-place petunias, anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus was standing a little way off, leaning against a tree, eating one of my turkey sandwiches. He gave me a small salute.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat is going on?\u201d Kelsie demanded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her voice was sharp now. The sweetness was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI thought the judges deserved to see the full neighborhood collaboration,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pressed play.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The first clip came up, with big white letters: FRIDAY, 1:47 A.M.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A tall, broad-shouldered figure walked up my driveway in heavy work boots, holding a roller. They started painting my garage. Slowly. Stiffly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judges leaned forward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then the headlights. The panic. The figure running through my hydrangeas, and one boot coming off in the mulch. The figure hopping away on one sock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Somebody laughed. I think it was one of the judges. She covered it with a cough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Next clip. SATURDAY, 3:12 A.M.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A shorter figure in a loose white shirt and sneakers. Quick, nervous movements. Paint everywhere. Then the struggle to get out of the shirt, which got stuck over their head for a few seconds. Then shoving it into my hedge and running away in a T-shirt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joyce made a small sound, like a balloon losing air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Next clip. MONDAY, 2:30 A.M. This was the clearest one, from the new camera.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally, Kelsie appeared. Rolling black paint across my door in long, careful strokes. Stepping back to admire her work. Turning toward the camera.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And pulling back her hood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The new camera was clearer than the doorbell. It wasn\u2019t perfect. But on a big screen, in the bright morning, with Kelsie standing right there in front of it, you\u2019d have to be blind to miss it. The hair. The jacket. The way she stood with one hip out, the exact way she was standing right now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I paused the recording right there, on her face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone was silent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor three nights,\u201d I said, \u201cthese people worked very hard to make sure my house wouldn\u2019t look its best today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie crossed her arms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat proves absolutely nothing!\u201d she said. \u201cThat could be anybody! It\u2019s blurry! You can\u2019t even\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John suddenly blurted out, \u201cYou said the cameras were fake!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone turned toward him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked like he wanted to swallow his own tongue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou said,\u201d he said to Kelsie, quieter, \u201cToby said the camera was fake. At the barbecue. You said it didn\u2019t record.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJohn,\u201d Kelsie hissed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joyce threw up her hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cKelsie told us nobody would ever find out!\u201d she said. \u201cShe said it was harmless! She said it was just to even the playing field! She said\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWill you two shut up?\u201d Kelsie snapped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it was too late.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once it started, it was like a dam breaking. John started blaming Joyce. Joyce said she only did it once and it was the shirt that gave her away and it was John\u2019s fault for losing the boot. John said Joyce was the one who\u2019d picked the paint color. Joyce said black was the obvious choice, and John said, \u201cWell, why not red, then?\u201d and Joyce said red would look like a crime scene, and John said, \u201cIt is a crime scene, Joyce!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And through all of it, both of them kept saying the same thing: It was Kelsie\u2019s idea. It was all Kelsie\u2019s idea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe said you\u2019d win again!\u201d Joyce said, pointing at me. \u201cShe said if you won three years in a row, they\u2019d probably make you a judge, and then none of us would ever have a chance!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not true!\u201d I said. \u201cNobody makes you a judge.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, she said it!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judges listened in astonishment as the three practically confessed everything. One of the women had her hand pressed over her mouth. The other was writing very fast on her clipboard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus was filming the whole thing on his phone. I would talk to him about that later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie stood in the middle of her lawn, in front of the screen with her own face on it, and didn\u2019t say anything. Her face had gone a blotchy red.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally, Mr. Patterson raised his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He didn\u2019t say anything at first. He just raised it, the way I imagine he used to raise it in a high school cafeteria. And all three of them stopped talking at once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s enough,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDeliberately sabotaging another contestant is unacceptable,\u201d he said. \u201cIn twenty-two years of this competition, I have never seen anything like it. All three of you are disqualified.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie opened her mouth to protest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUnless,\u201d he added, very calmly, \u201cyou\u2019d prefer we discuss this with the police.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For once, Kelsie had absolutely nothing to say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judges finished their rounds after that. They had six more houses to see. Mr. Patterson shook my hand before they left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMrs. Harmon,\u201d he said, \u201cI want you to know that the damage to your garage door will not be counted against you. Under the circumstances.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAlso,\u201d he said, and for the first time, he smiled, \u201cthat was the most entertaining judging I\u2019ve done in twenty-two years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back at our house, Toby and I sat on the porch steps with the leftover sandwiches.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Down the street, John was standing on a step stool, trying to untie his boot from Marian\u2019s rooster. The knot was too tight. He finally just cut the laces with a pocket knife and carried the boot inside without looking up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Across the street, Joyce\u2019s scarecrow was already gone. So was the shirt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie\u2019s house was quiet. The curtains were drawn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell,\u201d Toby said. He took a bite of sandwich. \u201cThat happened.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat happened.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr. Patterson said \u2018police.’\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you going to call them?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought about it for a long time. I watched a bee crawl around inside one of my roses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019d deserve it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know they would.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut I have to live next to them,\u201d I said. \u201cFor a long time, probably. And I don\u2019t want to be the woman who called the cops on a sixty-five-year-old widower over a garage door.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey didn\u2019t think twice about being the people who painted it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know.\u201d I sighed. \u201cThat\u2019s sort of the point. I don\u2019t want to be like them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby put his arm around me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d he said. \u201cThen what do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked at the garage door. Half black. Half white. Ugly as sin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want them to fix it,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That evening, I walked over to John\u2019s house first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He answered the door in his socks. He looked older than he had that morning. Smaller somehow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not here to yell,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou could,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019d deserve it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stood there in the doorway for a while. Then he stepped aside and let me in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John\u2019s living room hadn\u2019t changed since Marian died. Same doilies. Same photos on the mantel. And there, on the bookshelf, were four wooden plaques in a row. BEST IN MAPLE GROVE. Four years in a row. All with Marian\u2019s name on them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He saw me looking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019d be ashamed of me,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cShe would have marched me over to your house by my ear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy did you do it, John?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He sat down heavily in his recliner. He rubbed his bad knee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cKelsie came over in August,\u201d he said. \u201cShe\u2019d been crying. She said her ex-husband had gotten remarried and moved his new wife into their old house. The one she had the garden at. She said the yard was the only thing she had left that was hers. And she said you\u2019d win again, and then again, and nobody would ever remember anyone else.\u201d He shook his head. \u201cAnd I thought about Marian\u2019s plaques. And how nobody talks about her roses anymore. Everyone just talks about yours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t know what to say to that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt sounded like a little thing,\u201d he said. \u201cA little paint. A little mischief. Like we were kids again.\u201d He looked at the boot, which was sitting by the door, still black. \u201cThen I lost my boot in your flower bed and I lay awake all night thinking, What am I doing? I\u2019m sixty-six years old.\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen why\u2019d you keep going?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause Joyce had already bought the shirt,\u201d he said, and he almost laughed. \u201cAnd Kelsie said if we stopped now, we\u2019d just be the ones who did it once. Somehow that sounded worse.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Joyce cried before I even said anything. She opened the door, saw me, and just burst into tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m so sorry,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry. I don\u2019t know what happened to me. I\u2019ve never done anything like that in my life. I got a parking ticket in 1994 and I paid it the same day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJoyce.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI run the Facebook group! I\u2019m supposed to be the one who catches people!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJoyce.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stopped. Sniffled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou told me to call the police,\u201d I said. \u201cStanding in my driveway. You looked me right in the face.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She went red all the way up to her hairline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI panicked,\u201d she said. \u201cI thought if I acted angry enough, nobody would ever suspect me. I watch a lot of those murder shows.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis wasn\u2019t a murder, Joyce.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know! But the principle is the same!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t stay long. But I told her what I\u2019d told John.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie didn\u2019t answer her door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I knocked three times. I could see her car in the driveway, and I could see the light from the TV flickering behind the curtains.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally, I just spoke through the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cKelsie. I know you\u2019re there. I\u2019m not calling the police.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you, John, and Joyce are going to repaint my garage door. Saturday morning. Eight a.m. All three of you. You can bring your own paint, or I\u2019ll give you some. White. Not black.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, from the other side of the door, very quietly: \u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was it. That was all she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I walked home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Saturday morning at eight a.m., they were all there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John, with a toolbox and a brand new pair of boots. Joyce, in an old sweatshirt and a baseball cap, holding a paint scraper like it might bite her. And Kelsie, arriving last at 8:07, in jeans and a plain gray T-shirt. No green jacket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby sat on the porch with a pitcher of lemonade and a lawn chair and supervised. He was enjoying it far too much.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou missed a spot,\u201d he called to John at one point.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI haven\u2019t started yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust getting ahead of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Getting oil-based enamel off a garage door is miserable work. Frank had been right. It took them almost five hours. They had to scrape and sand and use paint thinner that made everyone\u2019s eyes water. Joyce got thinner on her sneakers and had to throw them out. John had to stop twice to rest his knee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie didn\u2019t say a word the whole morning. She just worked. Scraping, sanding, wiping. She worked harder than either of the other two.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Around noon, I brought out sandwiches. I put the plate on the edge of the driveway without saying anything and went back inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I came out later, the plate was empty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By two o\u2019clock, the garage door was white again. Clean and smooth and perfect, like nothing had ever happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John and Joyce gathered up their things and went home. John nodded at me as he left. Joyce gave me a little wave and said, \u201cI\u2019ll bring you a casserole,\u201d which I think was Joyce for I\u2019m sorry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelsie stayed behind. She was rinsing out the paint brushes with my hose at the side of the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I walked over. For a while we just stood there, listening to the water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe got married again,\u201d she said finally, without looking up. \u201cDid John tell you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe told me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s twenty-nine. She posts pictures of my roses on Instagram. The ones I planted. She calls them \u2018my garden.’\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, Kelsie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d she said sharply. Then softer: \u201cDon\u2019t be nice to me. I can\u2019t take that right now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She turned off the hose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEvery year,\u201d she said, \u201cI come in second. Every year, I smile and say there\u2019s always next year. And this year I looked at my yard and I thought, there isn\u2019t. There\u2019s never a next year. There\u2019s just you, winning, and me, smiling.\u201d She shook the water off a brush. \u201cThat\u2019s not an excuse. I know it\u2019s not an excuse. I\u2019m just telling you why.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou could have told me,\u201d I said. \u201cAny time. You could have come over and said, \u2018I\u2019m having a terrible year.\u2019 I\u2019d have made you soup. You made me soup.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She looked at me for a long moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know,\u201d she said. \u201cThat\u2019s the worst part.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She handed me the clean brushes and walked back to her own yard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The results were announced the next weekend at the block party.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every year it\u2019s the same. Folding tables at the end of the street. A bounce house for the kids. Hot dogs. A snow cone machine that never quite works. Mr. Patterson stands up on a milk crate with a microphone that squeals.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone on Maple Street had heard about what happened by then. Joyce\u2019s Facebook group had gone strangely quiet, but Marcus\u2019s video had made the rounds anyway. I\u2019d made him take it down from his own account, but not before about two hundred people had seen it. Someone had already made it into a meme. Mostly the part where John says, \u201cIt is a crime scene, Joyce!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I walked up to the tables, people kept coming over to pat my shoulder. A woman I\u2019d never met asked me to sign her paper plate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

John came. He stood at the edge of the crowd with his hands in his pockets. Joyce came and stood next to him, wearing sunglasses even though it was cloudy. Kelsie didn\u2019t come at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mr. Patterson climbed up on his milk crate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis year,\u201d he said, \u201chas been a very unusual year for the Maple Grove beautification competition.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut I\u2019m pleased to say that, after careful consideration, our winner is the same as last year.\u201d He looked down at me. \u201cMrs. Jennifer Harmon, for her roses, her hydrangeas, her remarkable hedges, and for one of the most memorable garage doors in the history of this competition.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

People clapped. Toby whistled with two fingers in his mouth, which he knows I hate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I walked up and took the plaque and the envelope with the gift certificate. I said thank you. I didn\u2019t cry this time. I\u2019m not sure why.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I came back to the table, Toby hugged me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTwo in a row,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019re officially unstoppable.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I looked over at the end of the street, where Kelsie\u2019s curtains were still closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I spent most of that thousand-dollar gift certificate at Greenleaf the next week. Mulch. Fertilizer. A new climbing rose I\u2019d wanted for years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And a flat of petunias.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Purple ones. The deep purple kind Kelsie always said she could never find.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I left them on her front porch with a note.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s always next year. I mean it this time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t sign it. I didn\u2019t need to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two days later, I came out in the morning and the petunias were planted along the front of her house. Right where the screen had been.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didn\u2019t say anything about it. Neither did I. But that Sunday, when I was out trimming the hedge that separates our yards, she came out to water her flowers, and she said, \u201cYour roses look good,\u201d and I said, \u201cYour petunias look better,\u201d and she almost smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wasn\u2019t friendship. Not yet. Maybe not ever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it was something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here\u2019s what I keep thinking about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For three days, I thought the worst thing that could happen was losing a competition. I stood at my window every morning looking at that black paint, and I felt like someone had reached into my chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the thing that actually hurt wasn\u2019t the paint. Paint comes off. Toby and I proved that three times, and John, Joyce, and Kelsie proved it a fourth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What hurt was standing in my driveway while the people who did it told me how awful it was. Taking water bottles from Kelsie. Thanking her for caring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t know if I\u2019ll ever look at my neighbors the same way. I wave to John every morning. Joyce brought me the casserole, and it was terrible, and I ate it anyway. Kelsie and I talk about flowers over the hedge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But now I know that the people who smile at you across a fence are just people. They have bad years. They get jealous. They make stupid decisions at two-thirty in the morning in borrowed hoodies. And sometimes, if you let them, they show up at eight a.m. on a Saturday with a paint scraper and fix what they broke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The garage door is still white.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well. Almost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Down in the bottom corner, near the ground, where the driveway meets the door, there\u2019s one little streak of black that Joyce missed with her scraper. It\u2019s about the size of my thumb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Toby offered to paint over it. Twice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told him to leave it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every morning when I take out the trash, I look at that little black smudge. And I remember the boot hanging off Marian\u2019s rooster, and the scarecrow in Joyce\u2019s shirt, and Kelsie standing in front of her own face on a giant screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I remember that I could have called the police, and I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I won the competition. But I think that was the part I\u2019m actually proud of.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Someone kept ruining my freshly painted garage door just days before our neighborhood\u2019s biggest competition. When I found out who was behind it, I decided to give the judges a … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":21771,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-21770","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-family-story","category-lastest-story"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t