Chapter 22
The late afternoon sunlight spread itself across my property. Warm sun, cool breeze off the ocean, the smell of cedar and fresh growth everywhere. I walked down my driveway with my phone in hand, the Merlin app running, listening for birds.
The app caught a song. Spotted towhee. I'd seen plenty of those. Another chirp. Dark-eyed junco. Common around here. Then a third notification that made me stop walking.
Hairy woodpecker.
I looked up, scanning the trees on both sides of the driveway.
The app said it was nearby, had picked up its call, but I couldn't spot it.
The Douglas firs rose tall and thick, their bark deeply furrowed, a perfect habitat for woodpeckers.
I stood still for a full minute, watching, waiting. Nothing. The bird stayed hidden.
Still. A new one for my life list. I smiled and kept walking.
At the end of the driveway, the dirt and gravel gave way to the county road.
I noticed the tire marks where Grace had parked her RAV4.
Two faint impressions in the soft shoulder.
Like she promised, the marks were the only sign she'd been here.
Not a single piece of trash or a food wrapper or any of the debris that careless campers left behind.
She'd been gone for three days now, back to her motel work. Tourist season was picking up, like she said it would. More rooms to clean meant more hours, which meant more money, which meant less time parked on my drive.
But summer also meant the rooms would fill and she'd need somewhere to stay between shifts. I knew I'd be seeing more of her soon.
I thought about offering Grace a spot closer to the cabin. The advantages were obvious. Running water, wifi, an actual toilet instead of the holes she'd dug.
But I knew she was wary. Whatever had happened to Grace before she arrived here had left marks that didn't show on the surface. She needed to move at her own pace. Trust had to be earned, not offered.
And she was pretty. I could admit that to myself.
Black hair that caught the light, eyes that crinkled when she laughed at her own jokes.
And underneath the bubbly exterior, a quiet strength that I recognized, the kind that comes from carrying weight alone for too long. The same strength I saw in Claire.
Two years of living alone, not a single date while living in the city. Then I move out here and suddenly I'm in bed with Aimee and kissing both Claire and Scout. Now a cute girl parks in my driveway and brings me donuts and bagels? Rural life is not what I expected it to be.
Grinning, I reached the mailbox and pulled it open.
Checking the mail had become part of my routine since I'd installed this box back in March. Every afternoon, the walk down the driveway, the satisfying creak of the metal door, the small pleasure of ownership. My mailbox. My driveway. My property.
Most days brought nothing but junk. Credit card offers addressed to "Current Resident." Flyers for pizza places in Sequim. Grocery circulars.
Today was different.
Mixed in with the usual junk mail was a registered letter. Official Notice from the county. I tore it open standing right there at the road.
The first paragraph made my stomach drop.
I read it twice, standing in the sunshine that suddenly felt less warm. The language was bland, bureaucratic... and gut-wrenching.
Underground electrical service lines from the county road right-of-way to the residence require immediate retrenching and replacement to meet current fire safety code provisions pursuant to County Ordinance 47.
12.3. Due to the elevated fire risk classification of the subject property in protected Wooded Rural zoning, compliance is required within fifteen (15) days of the notice date.
Failure to comply will result in the disconnection of electrical service.
Estimated cost of compliant retrenching by county services: $33,400.
Thirty-three thousand dollars. That would consume most of my remaining cash.
I thought of Abner, sitting on my porch, telling me about the code violation he'd received fifteen years ago. The one that cut him off from the grid because he couldn't afford to comply.
Then I thought of Harlan Foster, telling me about easements and access roads and all the troubles a man could have with county regulations.
"Goddamn it," I muttered through clenched teeth.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Marcus Webb.
We'd worked together during my insurance years.
He'd been a claims adjuster like me, then went to law school at forty and reinvented himself as a construction defect attorney.
Now he handled property disputes all over Western Washington.
He answered on the third ring.
"Thomas Harmon? Been a while."
"Too long, Marcus. I need your help."
"What kind of help?"
"The property dispute kind." I looked down at the notice in my hand.
"I bought property on the Olympic Peninsula back in February.
Twenty-two acres with a cabin. Since then, I've discovered that the previous owner was being defrauded by a neighbor on multiple fronts.
Now that neighbor seems to be coming after me. "
"Tell me everything."
I described the situation methodically, the way I'd learned to present claims early in my insurance career.
The fraudulent boundary documents. The well access fees collected on land that the neighbor didn't own.
The recorded easement that appeared to be fabricated.
And now this code violation notice, demanding compliance within fifteen days or disconnection.
Marcus listened without interrupting. When I finished, there was a long pause.
"The technical violation," he said slowly. "Is it real?"
"I don't know. The underground lines were installed when the cabin was built in the seventies. They seemed fine when I bought the place. No one mentioned any issues during the sale."
"That doesn't mean there isn't a legitimate code concern. Fire safety regulations have been tightened significantly in the last few years, especially in rural areas. It's possible your lines genuinely don't meet current standards."
"But the timing, Marcus. I've been here less than three months. No issues. Then I start looking into this neighbor's fraud and suddenly I get a fifteen-day compliance notice?"
"The timing and targeting do suggest someone with county influence is driving this. You said the neighbor has connections?"
"Deep ones, from what I've been told. He's been operating in this area for decades."
"Then yes. This has the smell of a manufactured emergency.
Someone pulled your file, found a technical deficiency that probably exists on half the rural properties in the county, and decided to enforce it aggressively.
The fifteen-day window is designed to pressure you into either paying the inflated county rate or losing power entirely. "
"What are my options?"
"You don't have to use county services for the retrenching.
You could hire a private contractor, potentially at a lower cost. But here's the problem.
Any work on lines connecting to public utilities requires county permit approval.
And if someone at the county is actively working against you, that approval could be delayed indefinitely. "
"So they've got me either way."
"They've got you in a difficult position, not an impossible one.
I can file for an extension based on procedural grounds.
The notice should have included a technical specification of the alleged violation, not just a general reference to code.
That's a defect in the notice itself. I can also request an independent inspection rather than relying on whatever county inspector flagged this. "
"How long would all that take?"
"Weeks. Maybe months if they fight it."
I stared at the notice. Fifteen days.
"What happens if I just don't comply and they disconnect me?"
"You'd have to file for reconnection, which would require the retrenching anyway. Plus additional fees. Plus potential fines for the original non-compliance. The clock starts running the moment you miss that deadline."
"So there's no fast option that doesn't cost me most of my savings."
"Not that I can see. I'm sorry, Thomas. This is a pressure campaign. The goal is to make fighting more expensive than surrendering."
"I'm not surrendering."
"Good. Then email me everything you've got. The notice, your deed, and any documentation on the previous fraud. I'll review it and we'll figure out a strategy."
"I'll send it tonight."
"One more thing. You mentioned this neighbor made a previous visit. Made offers, implied threats. Document every interaction from now on. Dates, times, and what was said. If this goes to litigation, that pattern of harassment becomes evidence."
"Already doing it."
"Smart man. We'll talk soon."
I hung up and walked back toward the cabin. The charm of the afternoon was gone, replaced by the cold weight of what I was facing. The birdsong continued around me, but I barely heard it. My mind was churning through numbers, timelines, contingencies.
Inside the cabin, I went straight to my files and the folder I'd been building since I first discovered the boundary fraud.
I added the notice, photographed it, noted the date and time of receipt.
The pattern was now documented on three fronts.
Boundary fraud. Well fraud. Manufactured code violation.
Three attacks from three directions. All pointing to the same source.
I needed to talk to Claire.
The walk to the James Farm was quick. The path was familiar now. I was getting to know the land. The afternoon light filtered through the canopy in bright shafts. Under other circumstances, I would have enjoyed it.