.
I’d mounted several severed flowers onto a piece of plywood.
In the center was a printed still from the security camera showing Whitney mid-cut, hedge shears open around one of my mother’s plants.
Underneath, in large black letters, I’d written, “YOU MISSED THE CAMERA.”
Whitney stared at it, then looked at my house.
I raised my coffee mug.
Ten minutes later, she was pounding on my door.
“Take that down.”
“No.”
“You can’t put pictures of me outside.”
“They are very accurate pictures, don’t you think?”
Her mouth tightened.
“Very funny.”
“You seemed comfortable putting things in my garden.”
“I was doing you a favor.”
I almost admired the confidence. “You destroyed my plants.”
“They were overgrown.”
“They weren’t yours.”
Whitney looked past me toward the fence.
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