Part 4 of 5
David’s flashlight beam stayed fixed on us.
For a second, no one moved.
Then his eyes dropped to the phone in my hand.
“Were you recording?” he asked.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
I slid the phone into my jacket pocket.
“We were leaving.”
David stepped closer.
Tom moved between us.
“Then let us leave,” he said.
David smiled faintly.
“You shouldn’t be back here.”
“Neither should steel trapping cable,” Tom replied.
The smile disappeared.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
David looked toward the clubhouse, then back at us.
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“Sarah, don’t make this difficult.”
The way he said my name made my stomach tighten.
He knew exactly who I was.
Tom took another step forward.
“Back off.”
David stared at him.
Then he reached into his jacket.
I instinctively stepped backward.
But instead of a weapon, he pulled out a ring of keys.
“You want to know what’s in the shed?” he asked.
Neither of us answered.
David walked toward the maintenance doors.
He unlocked the heavy padlock.
“Fine,” he said. “Come look.”
Tom glanced at me.
Everything about this felt wrong.
But if David was willing to open the door himself, we might finally see what was inside without breaking in.
He pulled the door open.
The smell of fertilizer, gasoline and damp earth drifted into the night.
“Go ahead,” he said.
Tom entered first.
I followed cautiously.
The shed looked ordinary at first.
Rakes.
Shovels.
Mulch.
Fuel cans.
Gardening tools.
For a moment, doubt crept in.
Maybe the cable outside really was landscaping equipment.
Maybe we had heard only part of a conversation.
Then Tom stopped.
“Sarah.”
His voice had changed.
I followed his gaze.
Behind a stack of fertilizer bags sat a large plastic storage bin.
The lid was sealed with strips of silver duct tape.
David moved quickly.
“That’s not HOA property.”
Tom looked at him.
“Then whose is it?”
David didn’t answer.
I stepped toward the bin.
“Don’t touch that,” he said.
Now I knew we had found something.
Tom pulled the bin away from the wall.
David lunged forward.
“I said leave it alone!”
Tom shoved him back.
“Stay away from her.”
I tore one corner of the tape loose.
Then another.
David cursed under his breath.
I lifted the lid.
My breath caught.
Inside were several coils of heavy steel cable.
Metal trapping mechanisms.
Locks.
Gloves.
And beneath them, a small stack of pet collars.
Tom went completely still.
He reached into the bin with shaking hands.
Then he pulled out a faded blue collar.
A bone-shaped tag hung from it.
Tom stared at the name.
Barnaby.
His face collapsed.
“You kept this?” he whispered.
David said nothing.
Tom turned toward him.
“You found my dog.”
Still no answer.
“You knew what happened to him.”
David’s jaw tightened.
I looked back into the bin.
There were more collars.
A small one with a bell.
Another with a worn red tag.
Evidence of pets that had simply disappeared.
Then I noticed a spiral notebook lying beneath the cables.
I pulled it out.
“Sarah,” David warned.
I opened it.
The pages contained dates.
Locations.
Short notes.
Descriptions of animals.
Some entries mentioned the retention pond.
Others listed fence lines and yards.
Then I found an entry that made my hands go numb.
August 4 — 426 Maplewood — Terrier.
My address.
Buster.
I turned the notebook toward Tom.
His face hardened.
“Call Miller,” he said.
I reached for my phone.
David moved faster.
He grabbed my wrist.
“Give me that.”
“Let go!”
Tom shoved him away.
David stumbled into a workbench.
A metal wrench crashed onto the floor.
For a few seconds, everything became chaos.
Tom grabbed the notebook.
I pulled out my phone.
David blocked the doorway.
“You don’t understand,” he said.
“Then explain it,” I shouted.
His eyes flicked toward the box.
“My mother wanted the neighborhood kept under control.”
The words landed heavily.
Tom stared at him.
“Your mother?”
David laughed once, but there was nothing amused about it.
“You think she does her own dirty work?”
I felt sick.
“Marge told you to set the traps?”
David looked toward the clubhouse.
That was answer enough.
I hit record on my phone.
“Say that again.”
He saw the screen.
His face changed instantly.
He lunged.
Tom stepped between us.
The two men crashed into the side of the shed.
Shelves shook.
Tools clattered to the floor.
I backed away, gripping the phone.
“I’m calling the police!”
David broke free from Tom and reached toward a workbench.
For one terrifying second, I thought he was reaching for another tool.
Instead, he grabbed a heavy metal bar.
Tom raised his arms defensively.
“David, put it down.”
“You should have stayed out of this.”
I backed toward the door.
Then I heard something outside.
Voices.
Several people.
The HOA meeting had apparently ended.
David heard them too.
He froze.
That hesitation was enough.
Tom kicked the metal bar out of his hand.
It slid across the concrete floor.
I grabbed the notebook from the workbench.
“Run!”
Tom and I bolted out of the shed.
We sprinted up the grassy slope toward the brightly lit clubhouse.
Behind us, David shouted something I couldn’t understand.
People were already spilling into the parking lot.
Marge stood near the entrance talking with two board members.
When she saw us coming, she froze.
Tom was clutching Barnaby’s collar.
I was holding the notebook.
And David was running behind us.
“Call 911!” I screamed.
Everyone turned.
I reached the nearest table and slammed the notebook down.
“We found traps in the maintenance shed.”
Marge’s face went white.
“What did you do?” she whispered.
I stared at her.
“No, Marge.”
I opened the notebook to the page containing my address.
“What did you do?”
People crowded closer.
Marge looked at the notebook.
Then at David.
Then at the collars in Tom’s hands.
Her polished expression began to break.
“Those animals were a problem,” she said.
The room went silent.
Tom’s face twisted with disbelief.
“Barnaby was my family.”
Marge shook her head.
“You don’t understand what it takes to maintain a community like this.”
Several people stepped away from her.
I heard sirens in the distance.
Getting louder.
Marge looked around at the neighbors who had trusted her for years.
For the first time, she seemed to understand that she had lost control.
Then David suddenly turned toward the parking lot.
He started running.
“He’s leaving!” someone shouted.
Two police cruisers turned into the entrance just as David reached the edge of the lot.
He stopped.
Officer Miller stepped out of the first cruiser.
His eyes moved from David…
to Marge…
to the notebook in my hands.
“Sarah,” he said, walking toward me.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
I handed him the ledger.
“Everything you need is in there.”
He opened it.
His expression changed almost immediately.
Then I remembered the recording on my phone.
David’s voice.
Marge’s voice outside the shed.
Everything.
I held the phone toward Officer Miller.
“And there’s more.”
By the time he finished listening, officers were already walking toward Marge and David.