At 74 years young, I thought I’d seen every kind of neighborhood drama. Then Derek Larson moved in next door and decided my peaceful pond was his personal nemesis. “The frogs keep me awake!” he’d complain. “The dragonflies are dive-bombing my grill!” For years I laughed it off – until I came home from visiting my grandchildren to find my beloved water feature gone.
The bare patch of earth where my pond once shimmered took my breath away. Mrs. Carter came hurrying over, her eyes wide. “He had workmen here all day yesterday, Agnes! I tried to stop them but they showed me some official-looking papers!”
My fingers trembled as I pulled up the security footage from my garden camera. There was Derek, smug as could be, directing the crew where to dump load after load of dirt. That’s when my sweet old lady persona dropped like a stone.
First stop: the county wetlands commission. “You don’t understand,” I told the officer, batting my eyelashes. “That pond was home to the rarest tree frogs in the state!” The $35,000 fine they issued Derek was just the beginning.
Next came my grandson’s law firm with a lawsuit for property damage and emotional distress. But the real masterstroke? Inviting Derek’s wife Linda for tea and casually showing her the footage. The color drained from her face as she watched her husband’s deception unfold.
The sweetest sound I’ve ever heard? The excavators returning to dig out what Derek had buried. Linda supervised every detail of the restoration, right down to replanting the water lilies from my original stock. These days, the frogs sing louder than ever, Derek’s living in his fishing cabin upstate, and Linda brings the best lemon pound cake to our weekly pond-side chats.
