"Nothing."
"That doesn't make sense."
She looked toward the window.
I waited.
Finally, she spoke.
"I borrowed her truck."
My stomach dropped.
"When?"
She didn't answer immediately.
I already knew.
"Two weeks ago?"
Denise shut her eyes.
That was enough.
I felt something inside me settle.
For months, I had been second-guessing myself.
Every overturned trash can had made me wonder whether I was being ridiculous.
Every missing item had left me questioning my own memory.
Even after the car, I had wondered if accusing Denise made me look obsessed.
Now she was sitting in my kitchen, and I finally knew.
"You painted my car."
Denise opened her eyes.
"I was angry."
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
"You painted my entire car because I complained about your dog?"
"It wasn't just that."
"Then what was it?"
"You kept acting like you were better than me."
My mouth fell open.
"I asked you to keep your dog out of my flowers."
"You embarrassed me with the HOA."
"Your dog destroyed my yard three times."
"I know."
"No, Denise. You clearly didn't."
She stood abruptly.
"I didn't think it would cost that much to fix."
I stared at her.
"That's your defense?"
"I'm not defending it."
"You threatened to destroy me five minutes ago because someone did the exact same thing to you."
She looked away.
That seemed to hit harder than anything else I had said.
I picked up my phone.
"I'm calling the police."
Her head snapped toward me.
