The semiweekly quotes and poems from [email protected] were another step in the right direction. Some people thought Ted was sending them, which flattered him—it was a good idea. He couldn’t think who it might actually be. A woman, he guessed. Most men didn’t care for poetry. Well, he did, but he wasn’t most men. The most recent poem was Joyce Kilmer’s famous “Trees.” Allison had read it aloud at breakfast yesterday. “It’s all about sex,” she’d said, inspiring both Ted and Jillian to cry “Mom!” in dismay.

Still the question hung in the air in Willard Park: who was cutting down the trees? And the answer hung there, too, just out of reach for lack of concrete evidence.

Over thirty lawns in town sported the sign Jillian had made. Ted was proud of that. He’d had to replace several of them after they were damaged—some by weather, others by intent—but that was to be expected. He checked to make sure theirs was intact, then headed toward the Coxes’. Lights were on in every room. This seemed like a sort of vandalism in its own right: a crime against the planet. Nothing new for Cox and co.

In the front yard, there was something new though: Cox had posted a sign of his own, one that depicted houses of different sizes and styles, all with smiling doors. The words “Living in Harmony” were written across the bottom. While Jillian’s sign looked like it had been made by a twelve-year-old—as it had been—Cox’s looked professionally rendered; it sported red and blue ink instead of just black.

“Look at that, Terr! Do you believe it?”

“Living in Harmony,” Terrance read, sounding out the words. “That’s nice.”

“No. It’s not. He doesn’t mean it. It’s aggressive.”

“Oh,” Terrance said.

“He’s trying to say that people who don’t want to allow big houses in town are the ones causing the trouble.”

“But, Ted . . . harmony means together.”

The police would react in the same way, if he were to call it in. Let me get this straight: you’re protesting a sign that says, “Living in Harmony”?

Typical Nick Cox! He could make an attack look like an olive branch.

They saw more of Cox’s signs as they walked. He wondered if Cox had even asked the neighbors for permission or just hammered them into the ground while they were basking in their post-turkey haze. He used two wooden posts instead of one, which made them sturdier.