Chapter 1

I set up a self-service car wash right by my garage door, so I can wash my car whenever I feel like it.

But by the second month, my water meter was spinning like crazy.

After checking the security footage, I realized Mrs. Wilkins from next door had been sneaking over in the middle of the night to steal water. Later, she even started bringing her crew of girlfriends to wash their cars, carpets, and cat cages.

I went over to confront her, but she just tossed me a hundred bucks and said, "Here, take it. Don't make a scene."

I went to the property manager, but they just tried to brush it off. I called the police, but as soon as they left, she started cursing even louder.

I'd had enough.

I headed to the chemical supply store, grabbed some supplies, and modified my car wash to have two settings.

The regular mode was just for me.

The sulfuric acid mode was reserved especially for them.

This time, they paid the price.

"Mia, your car wash is really something," Mrs. Wilkins said, standing at my garage door, practically drooling over it.

Mrs. Wilkins stood at my garage door, practically drooling over it.

I'm Mia Sanders, thirty-two, living on the first floor of Emerald Heights with my own garage. My husband, David, works at a state-owned company. He's a good guy, but not much of a talker. I run a flower shop, the business is nothing special, just enough to keep food on the table but not enough to make us rich.

This spring, I set up a self-service car wash right by my garage door.

It's not really a fancy car wash, just a high-pressure hose, a foam dispenser, and a water pipe I hooked up myself.

David loves his car more than anything. If he doesn't wash it at least once a week, he gets all antsy. Getting it washed outside costs fifty bucks each time, but doing it myself saves money and helps me unwind. It's a win-win.

I had a separate water meter installed just for the car wash, so all the water usage goes through my own meter. The property management has nothing to do with it.

The day I finished setting it up, Mrs. Wilkins came over, craning her neck to peek inside, practically drooling over it.

"Hey, Mia, you got yourself a car wash?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's convenient," I replied.

"Looks great," she said, grinning at me. That smile of hers made my skin crawl.

I couldn't help myself, I blurted out, "If you ever want to use it, just let me know."

Mrs. Wilkins's eyes squinted as she grinned. "Oh, I couldn't possibly, I'd feel so awkward."

She walked off, but kept glancing back at my car wash like it was a juicy steak she couldn't wait to dig into.

I didn't give it a second thought. It's normal to be polite with neighbors, right?

The next day, I noticed someone had tampered with the water hose on my car wash, the fitting was turned in a different direction. I figured it was just some kid messing around, so I didn't pay it any mind.

On the third day, I glanced at my separate water meter and saw it had already gone through half a ton of water.

"David, did you wash the car?" I asked.

"Nope, haven't even touched it this week," he replied.

My heart skipped a beat, but I shrugged it off. Maybe there was a leak in the hose or something.

On the fourth night, a little after nine, I went downstairs to toss out the trash. As I walked past my garage, there was Mrs. Wilkins in her pajamas, holding two big plastic buckets, squatting right in front of my car wash, using it to fill them up.

Water was gushing into the buckets, she'd already filled two by the time I got there.

She saw me, but didn't even try to stand up, she just kept doing her thing, totally unfazed.

"Mia, I'm just grabbing some water to rinse my floor mats. Shouldn't be a problem for you, right?" Mrs. Wilkins said.

I just stood there, stunned.

"Mrs. Wilkins, this setup is for my own use," I said.

"I know, you said yesterday I could use it if I just let you know. Well, I'm letting you know now," she replied.

I was completely stumped by her logic.

"So you're just grabbing water to clean your floor mats?" I asked.

"Yeah, they're filthy. Your water pressure is awesome, makes it so easy," she said.

Mrs. Wilkins hefted the two heavy buckets, wobbling as she headed for the stairs. As she passed me, she muttered, "City people are so particular. Installing a car wash is such a waste, you barely use it anyway. Might as well let it sit there collecting dust."

I was left speechless, just staring at her back as she walked away.

Those two buckets had to weigh at least forty pounds. 'Rinsing floor mats? Is she cleaning floor mats for a zoo or what?' I thought.

I kept my mouth shut.

It was the first time, so I let it slide.

But that was just the beginning.

Over the next week, my separate water meter was spinning like crazy.

On Monday, it was 0.8 tons. Tuesday, 1.2 tons. By Wednesday, it shot up to 2.5 tons. Thursday, 2.8 tons. By Friday, I didn't even dare look at it anymore.

David checked the meter three times, thinking he must be seeing things.

"Mia, are you washing the car every single day?" he asked.

"My car's filthy, it's practically caked in mud. I haven't even had time to wash it," I replied.

"Then where's all this water going?" David asked.

I didn't say anything, but I had a pretty good idea.

On Friday, I left work early, parked my car outside the complex, and snuck back to the garage on foot.

From a distance, I could see a whole crowd had gathered around my car wash, it looked like a street fair out there.

Mrs. Wilkins wasn't alone, she'd brought two other middle-aged ladies. One was on the chubby side, decked out in flowery pajamas and cotton slippers. The other was skinny, rocking a wild, frizzy perm, munching on sunflower seeds and spitting the shells everywhere.

The chubby lady was going all out on the floor mats, spreading three or four of them across the ground and blasting them with the high-pressure hose. Once she finished with the mats, she hit the tires, then the undercarriage, like she was detailing her own ride at a pro car wash.

The skinny lady was even more outrageous. She dragged out her kids' scooter and bike, scrubbing them one by one. Not satisfied, she went back home and returned with a whole bag of toys, plastic ducks, water guns, sand buckets, lining them up like they were waiting for their turn in a car wash queue.

Mrs. Wilkins was wielding the hose herself, attacking her white SUV with wild enthusiasm. Foam splattered everywhere, water flooded the ground, and it streamed down the ramp like a river running wild.

The three of them were laughing and chatting, totally at ease, like it was their own backyard.

The chubby lady shouted, "Mrs. Wilkins, you really found a gem here! The water pressure is ten times stronger than at my place!"

The skinny lady chimed in, "Seriously, my faucet is so weak it's like peeing out of a straw. It takes forever to wash a scooter. This is way better, saves water, saves electricity, and saves me the hassle."

Mrs. Wilkins looked smug. "I'm telling you, this is the best spot in the whole complex. The young folks here are super chill, using a bit of their water is no big deal."

I was standing around the corner, and I could hear every word they said.

Chill? No big deal?