And when Lorraine died after a brief illness eleven months earlier, Talia found herself unable to visit the garden without feeling the weight of the loss.
For a long time, she'd paid someone to maintain the property.
She lived in another part of the state because of her work, and returning to the family home felt emotionally exhausting.
But recently she'd decided to restore the house herself, one room and one garden bed at a time.
That Saturday was supposed to be the beginning.
Talia placed the mug beside the sink and walked toward the front door.
She'd arrived the previous evening with a small suitcase, gardening gloves, and a bag of tools.
Her father, Benjamin Monroe, had died when she was twenty-one.
Lorraine never remarried.
Instead, she spent her later years filling the house with books, family photographs, and enough flowering plants to make the property resemble a small botanical garden.
The house belonged to Talia now.
The estate had been settled.
The deed was properly recorded.
And the property taxes were current.
She had no intention of selling.
Several real estate agents had contacted her after Lorraine's death, but she declined their offers.
The house represented too much history.
Talia remembered learning to ride a bicycle on the driveway.
Doing homework at the kitchen table.
And waiting anxiously in the living room on the day she learned she'd been accepted into a state university.
She also remembered returning home after completing her first law-enforcement investigative assignment, when Lorraine stood on the front steps holding a homemade cake.
Her mother hadn't understood every detail of Talia's work.
But she understood that it mattered to her daughter.
And she always reminded Talia that professional titles meant very little if a person forgot how to treat others.
"Being important isn't the same as being decent," Lorraine used to say.
Talia smiled faintly at the memory.
Then she opened the front door.
The rose garden waited beneath the bright morning sun.
She changed into her comfortable gardening clothes shortly after seven.
The olive-green crop top was practical for the warm weather, while the oversized camouflage cargo shorts had large pockets for small tools. Her tan suede boots were sturdy enough for working around the uneven flowerbed, and the little black handbag carried her phone, wallet, house keys, and work identification.
Her short platinum-white hair had become her signature style.
She'd first cut it several years earlier after growing tired of spending too much time styling longer hair before work.
The platinum color began as an experiment.
Her mother loved it immediately.
"Now you look like somebody who knows exactly what she wants," Lorraine said.
Talia laughed.
"Is that good?"
Her mother smiled.
"Very."
That morning, Talia caught her reflection in the hallway mirror and remembered the conversation.
Then she walked outside with a pair of gardening shears.
The air smelled of freshly cut grass.
A few birds moved through the trees.
And the red roses shone against the white picket fence.
For the first time since her mother's funeral, Talia felt ready to spend an entire morning tending the garden.
She knelt beside the first rosebush.
Then began trimming damaged stems.
At eight-fifteen, her neighbor Margaret Ellis appeared near the fence.
Margaret was seventy-four, with neatly styled gray hair, a gentle smile, and an impressive ability to know what was happening throughout the neighborhood without ever seeming intrusive.
She and Lorraine had been friends for more than thirty years.
Their children grew up together.
They exchanged recipes.
And every Christmas, they argued affectionately about whose decorations looked better.
When Margaret saw Talia working beside the roses, she stopped.
"Oh, sweetheart."
Talia looked up.
"Morning, Miss Margaret."
The older woman approached the fence.
For several seconds, she simply studied Talia's face.
Then smiled sadly.
"You look so much like your mother."
Talia felt her throat tighten.
"Everybody keeps telling me that."
Margaret nodded toward the roses.
"She'd be happy to see you taking care of these."
Talia looked down.
A large red bloom rested in her gloved hand.
"I should've come back sooner."
Margaret shook her head.
"Grief doesn't follow anybody's schedule."
For a moment, Talia couldn't speak.
Then she smiled.
"Thank you."
Margaret rested one hand on the fence.
They talked for several minutes about the house, the garden, and the neighborhood.
Then the older woman's expression became serious.
"Talia, have you heard about the city complaints?"
Talia frowned.
"What complaints?"
Margaret glanced toward the street.
For a moment, she seemed reluctant to continue.
Then she said quietly.
"People have been getting notices about their yards."
The first notice appeared at Margaret's house six months earlier.
It claimed that her front hedges obstructed a public safety corridor along the sidewalk.
The letter included a photograph of the property, a deadline for corrective action, and a warning that further enforcement could lead to municipal charges.
Margaret was confused.
The hedges had grown along the same fence line for more than twenty years.
They weren't blocking the sidewalk.
And she'd never received a complaint before.
She contacted the city code office.
A clerk told her the notice came through a neighborhood safety initiative and advised her to contact a private maintenance contractor listed on the form.
Margaret called.
The contractor offered to remove the hedges for a substantial fee.
When she questioned the cost, the representative explained that the work involved special municipal compliance requirements.
She didn't understand.
But she was frightened by the possibility of fines.
Eventually, she paid.
The contractor removed most of the hedges.
Two weeks later, Margaret received another letter stating that her property had been brought into compliance.
She thought the matter was finished.
Then her neighbor across the street received a similar notice concerning a flowerbed.
Another resident was warned about a decorative retaining wall.
And an elderly widow named Ruth Daniels was told to remove several shrubs from the property she'd owned since 1979.
The notices all referred to the same neighborhood safety program.
The same maintenance contractor.
And similar allegations of obstructing public access or visibility.
Margaret began wondering whether something was wrong.
Talia listened carefully.
"What contractor?"
Margaret looked toward her house.
"I kept the letter."
She disappeared inside.
Several minutes later, she returned carrying a folder.
Talia removed her gardening gloves and accepted it.
The document bore a city-style heading and referenced the Residential Visibility and Access Improvement Initiative.
Beneath the title was a paragraph describing public safety concerns near sidewalks and residential streets.
The notice included Margaret's address.
A photograph of her hedges.
And instructions to arrange corrective work through a company called Greenway Civic Maintenance.
Talia examined the form.
Her professional instincts immediately noticed several inconsistencies.
The cited municipal code section didn't appear to correspond directly to the described violation.
The contractor's name was unusually prominent.
And the notice contained language suggesting that paying the listed vendor would resolve the matter without further review.
Talia looked toward Margaret.
"Did you receive this through the city?"
The older woman nodded.
"It came in the mail."
"Did anybody inspect your yard?"
"Not that I saw."
Talia studied the photograph.
It appeared to have been taken from the sidewalk.
Then she checked the date.
For several seconds, she remained quiet.
The notice had been issued on a Sunday.
That wasn't impossible.
Automated systems sometimes generated documents outside normal business hours.
But other details made her uncomfortable.
"Did you keep the payment receipt?"
Margaret nodded.
"Of course."
Talia smiled.
"Good."
Then she asked whether she could make copies of the documents.
Margaret agreed.
The older woman looked relieved that someone was finally taking her questions seriously.