The Board Held Its Hearing Beside A Plate Of Cookies

Our board met in the little brick clubhouse near the storm pond. Somebody had set out sugar cookies on a plate with pumpkins around its edge.

Deborah sat behind them with her clipboard.

"We appreciate everyone's patience," she said.

There were three board members. Martin Hale handled the money. Lena Ortiz kept the minutes. Deborah seemed to handle what both of them were allowed to see.

I took the chair facing their table.

"I'd like the names of everyone making this decision recorded," I said.

Lena glanced at Deborah, then wrote them down.

Keisha sat beside me. I had asked her to attend, and she had agreed to explain her findings without another charge.

"The violation is a dead tree," Deborah said. "Nobody disputes that."

"I dispute who caused it," I said.

I placed three copies of the report on the table.

Martin turned to the lab page. Lena studied the pictures.

Deborah didn't touch hers.

"I applied a protective treatment," she said. "As a volunteer."

Keisha leaned forward.

"What product?"

"I don't remember the name."

"Where did you purchase it?"

"Our vendor provided it."

"Then there should be a record."

Deborah looked at me.

"You see how this turns a simple safety matter into an attack?"

"Please answer her question," I said.

She shuffled her papers.

Martin spoke without looking up. "Even if something happened to the tree, it still needs removal."

"Yes," I said. "I've booked a qualified crew. The earliest safe date they have is October third."

"The deadline is October first," Deborah said.

"Your preferred crew can come sooner?"

"Naturally."

"How much?"

She slid over a quote for $7,900 from Cedar Trace Services. No arborist's name appeared on it. The insurance line was blank.

My crew's quote was $4,800, including the stump, cleanup, and protection for June's brick paths. I had already checked its insurance.

"I'll keep my appointment," I said.

They asked us to wait outside while they talked.

Keisha and I stood by the pond, where a white bird picked its careful way through the shallows.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"You didn't make the decision."

"I meant about having to sit through it."

Through the clubhouse window, I saw Deborah push my report aside and place her quote in front of Martin.

When we went back in, Lena read the decision. All three had voted for it.

The $250 inspection charge stood. A fine of $50 a day would begin September 26 if the tree remained. They gave me the decision in writing.

"Your notice gave me until October first," I said.

"The board has reviewed the matter," Deborah answered.

"Then please record that I asked why the fines start before the deadline."

Lena wrote again. I watched the point of her pen. In all my years of delivering bad news I hadn't written, I had never liked watching somebody pretend the envelope changed what was inside.

"The report?" I asked.

"Outside the scope of this hearing," Deborah said.

I asked Lena to attach it to the minutes anyway.

Then I packed my folder, thanked them for their time, and went home before I said something that would feel good for ten seconds.

The removal crew came October 3. I watched from the porch as the oak came down in sections. The saws stopped once so the men could lift June's bird feeder clear.

That small kindness nearly undid me.

I asked for a sound slice from the trunk. Keisha took more marked samples before the stump was removed.

The next morning, my association account showed $650 due: the $250 charge and eight daily fines totaling $400.

I paid under written protest, kept the receipt, and put my objection in the same envelope. I could spare the money for a while. I would not give them an unpaid balance to use against my home.

Then I sent a formal request to inspect the association's financial records.

I asked for bank statements, paid invoices, approval minutes, vendor agreements, and insurance policies. I named the months. I asked for an appointment, not an explanation.

Deborah answered two days later.

"Our volunteers cannot provide personal accounting lessons."

Under that, she had attached a financial summary and a copy of the supposed spending approval, perhaps to show how much work the association did for us.

It was a summary of the drainage reserve.

I recognized the account's last four digits. I had carried the original opening deposit to the bank years before.

The page listed an $18,600 payment to Cedar Trace Services for a June tree safety program.

Below it were $27,400 for pond drainage repairs and $9,600 for emergency maintenance. All three payments went to Cedar Trace.

At the bottom, someone had typed, "Approvals held by records secretary."

I opened the lower drawer.

The first original I pulled out bore my signature and a date five years old.

The approval Deborah had just sent claimed I had signed again in June.