**Part 2**
I uploaded the footage to our neighborhood watch group that evening.
I want to be clear about what I uploaded and what I didn’t. I didn’t post the footage of them in the hot tub. That felt like a step too far, an embarrassment beyond what the situation required. What I posted was the footage of them coming through the gate, enough to establish what had been happening, along with a brief explanation that we had discovered our property being accessed without permission and wanted neighbors to know what we had found.
The response was more than I had anticipated.
Three separate neighbors wrote to say they had had similar experiences with Jim. A man two houses down said Jim had borrowed his pressure washer the previous summer and returned it with a crack in the housing that Jim had denied causing. A woman across the street said she had come home to find Jim using her driveway to turn around when he had a large load in his truck, which by itself was not remarkable, but she had discovered that he had done it multiple times, which meant he had been pulling into her driveway when she wasn’t home.
And then someone sent me a private message.
The message was from a neighbor I knew slightly, a woman named Diane who lived three streets over. She said she had been debating whether to say something for several months. She said what she had to tell me was bigger than a hot tub, and she asked if we could talk privately.
We met for coffee the following Saturday morning.
Diane had been looking into Jim for about six months, though looking into was perhaps too strong a phrase for what had been a series of accidental discoveries that she had never quite been able to dismiss.
She managed a property for her sister, who lived out of state. The property was a rental that her sister listed on a short-term rental platform. In the course of learning how the platform worked, Diane had searched addresses in our area out of curiosity, the way you do when you are learning the mechanics of something.
She had found Jim’s house listed.
Not unusual by itself. Plenty of people listed their homes on short-term rental platforms.
But Jim’s listing had something interesting in the description.
It mentioned the amenities of the neighborhood. Private hot tub access. Pool nearby. Diane had looked at the listing photograph. The hot tub in the photo was not the one in Jim’s backyard. Jim’s backyard, as I mentioned, had no hot tub.
She showed me the listing on her phone.
The photograph, now that I was looking at it with full context, was clearly taken in our yard. The angle was slightly different from how we would have photographed it, and there was a section of our garage roof visible in one corner. But the hot tub was ours. The wooden deck surround was ours. The established hedge along the back of the yard was ours.
Jim had been advertising access to our hot tub as an amenity for his short-term rental guests.
He had not been using our hot tub himself.
He had been using it as a selling point for other people’s stays.
I sat across from Diane in the coffee shop and held her phone and looked at the listing for a moment.
“How long has he been listed?” I asked.
“The listing went up about fourteen months ago,” she said.
Almost exactly when the noise had started.
Tom had asked Jim how it started and Jim had said it started as something small. I thought about what that meant now. It had started as Jim realizing the hot tub was unused and deciding, at some point, to test whether he could include it in his rental offering. He had either used it himself first to see whether we would notice, or he had started bringing guests to it immediately. Either way, the discovery that we were never home on weekends had turned what might have been a single opportunistic use into a business decision.
I asked Diane whether she knew how many guests had used our hot tub.
She didn’t know the exact number, but the listing had reviews. She scrolled through them on her phone and read several aloud. Multiple reviewers mentioned the hot tub specifically. Some called it a highlight. One review from eight months ago said the backyard was the best part of the stay.
Eight months ago.
“He’s been running guests through our yard,” I said.
“It looks that way,” Diane said.
I thought about what that meant beyond the simple violation of it. Jim had been collecting rental income that included an amenity he didn’t own. He had been making money from our property, from our maintenance costs, from our chemicals and our electricity and our service contract, without our knowledge or permission. Every time a guest left a good review mentioning the hot tub, his listing got stronger and his rental rate could go higher.
He had built a revenue stream on our backyard.
I thanked Diane. I drove home. I sat at the kitchen table with my laptop and spent two hours documenting everything: the listing, the reviews, the dates, the camera footage showing guests I now understood were not Jim’s family but paying strangers cycling through his rental. I saved everything to a folder and called Tom at work.
“Come home when you can,” I said. “We need to make some calls.”
We called our homeowner’s insurance company first to understand our exposure.
Then we called the short-term rental platform to report the unauthorized use of our property in a listing.
Then we called the non-emergency line for the local police department and were transferred to a detective who handled property fraud matters.
The detective, a woman named Hartley, asked us to come in.
We brought the folder.
Detective Hartley looked through everything. She asked questions about the timeline, about our relationship with Jim, about the camera and when we had installed it. She was thorough and unhurried and did not seem surprised by anything we told her, which I found both reassuring and slightly dispiriting.
She explained what she was looking at from a legal standpoint. The trespass was clear. The fraud element was potentially more complex, because proving that Jim had accepted payment specifically on the basis of a misrepresented amenity required establishing what guests had paid for and what they had been told they would receive. The listing itself was evidence, but the platform might complicate things.
“Leave that part to us,” she said.
She asked us to avoid contacting Jim directly in the meantime.
We agreed.
The investigation took three weeks.
In that time, life continued in the strange way it does when something significant is happening in the background. Tom went to work. I traveled for work. We used the hot tub twice, which felt like reclaiming something, sitting in our own backyard in the October evenings and looking at the lights in the house next door.
Jim continued waving from his driveway when he saw us.
We waved back.
I thought about those waves in a different way now.
The platform took down Jim’s listing within a few days of our report. I don’t know exactly what Hartley’s team communicated to them or whether they acted independently, but the listing disappeared.
Jim came to our door four days after the listing came down.
He did not know about Detective Hartley or the investigation. As far as he knew, we had discovered the hot tub situation, had our confrontation, and were done with it. The listing disappearing was a problem he wanted to address before it became a larger one.
“Charlotte,” he said when I opened the door. He was not carrying anything. He looked like a man who had been rehearsing a conversation. “I know things got strange a few weeks ago. I was hoping we could clear the air.”
“I appreciate that,” I said.
“I wanted to be honest with you about something.”
“Okay.”
He told me he had listed his home on a rental platform. He said he had, sometimes, offered guests access to the hot tub as a feature, and he was sorry, and he understood that was not acceptable.
He was offering me the reduced version. The accidental-overstep version. The I got carried away version.
“I appreciate you being honest about that,” I said.
“I want to make it right,” he said. “Whatever seems fair to you.”
I looked at him.
I thought about fourteen months of rental listings. I thought about reviews from guests calling our hot tub a highlight. I thought about every service contract payment and chemical purchase and the electricity that ran the heater.
“I’ll be in touch about what seems fair,” I said.
He nodded, visibly relieved, and went home.
