The next morning, Arthur was sitting on his porch, exhausted and dirty, his phone dialed to 911. He was ready to bypass Marge and demand an emergency response unit. But before he could press call, a loud, rusted pickup truck rumbled into the cul-de-sac and pulled into Henderson’s driveway. It wasn’t Mr. Henderson. It was a younger man wearing grease-stained work boots. It was Henderson’s adult son, Tim.
Seeing his chance to finally serve notice and demand answers, Arthur marched across the property line, cornering Tim just as he stepped out of his truck. Arthur stood rigid, trying to mask his panic with authority. “Young man! Your father has some serious explaining to do. I have seen the fluid, I know what’s under the tarp in that garage, and the authorities are being notified immediately!”