Won't You Be My Neighbor?

This June we will celebrate our two year mortgage anniversary. For the most part being a homeowner has been relatively uneventful. We put in a few new kitchen appliances, cut down some bushes, ripped up the carpet, planted some flowers, did a recon mission for our neighbors, and got a nice tax break. Your basic suburban experience.
Insert flashback titled "Two Years Earlier"
Dick and Jane Smith (clearly not their real names) live directly across the street from us. On moving day, we immediately noticed the abundance of vehicles and shelters parked in their driveways. Cars also lined the front of their home, as well as littered the front lawn. Maybe they are moving in on the same day? Are they Catholic with seven teenagers? Or God forbid...Foreign? Our prayers were answered when we later discovered that they are just your garden variety rednecks with good intentions. Whew, what a relief! Jason and Dick frequently chit-chat about lawn care (their talks include the pros & cons of keeping large motorized equipment off newly planted grass seed) and truck maintenance. Jane and I exchange pleasantries when we meet at the mailbox or when she almost takes off my bumper while backing out of her driveway. Life is good in suburbia.
Insert flashback titled " About Six Weeks Ago"
Jason comes inside from working on some laborious outdoor home maintenance project which I undoubtedly assigned to him and informs me that the Smiths have "done been vandalized". Without shrieking in panic (which would be my usual response) I calmly ask what happened. This is the convoluted story that follows. Dick tells Jason that a woman (no physical description) has smashed all the windows in several of their cars, slashed tires, broken headlights, and attempted to force her way into their dwelling. They were present at the time of the attacks and she fled the scene before law enforcement officials had a chance to arrive. "Well, do they know her?" I ask. Yes, she is a former friend and she is pissed at them. Uh-huh. That would have been my next logical thought. Most folks I call friends do not going around destroying my personal property. Maybe it's just me. "Why is she so angry with them?" I question. His response was "Don't know, he didn't offer, I didn't want to pry". You didn't want to pry. What? I am sorry, but you didn't want to pry? Hello, are you missing your nosy neighbor bone? This my loyal readers is what they call the hook of the story. You know...the meat of episode...the why behind the what....aka the interesting part. Without it, I have nothing. One important detail that Dick did offer up was that she drove a gold four door Pontiac and they would appreciate it if we would keep an eye out for her. Sure, I will get right on that. They don't call me Colombo of the hood for nothing.
Insert flashback titled "Yesterday Afternoon 5:30 PM"
I open my mailbox expecting the usual pile of bills. To my surprise, I find a cryptic handwritten note from...you guessed it...Jane Smith. The highlights include phrases such as "be on the lookout for a large woman with wild dark hair", "try to take her picture, but don't let her see you do it because she is a nut" and "call the police or me at the Waffle House". Immediately my eyes start darting around as if I am under surveillance. The theme song from Mission Impossible begins blasting in my ear drums. With cat-like reflexes, I sprint to the carport and crouch down behind my car so I can re-read the note while under cover. I read it again to make sure I haven't missed any pertinent information and then slowly slink inside. Once indoors I call Jason in a stage whisper and rattle off the details of the manuscript. I proceed to tell him that it is our duty as concerned citizens to set up a video camera to catch this crazy loon and maybe we need to think about installing a floodlight at the end of the driveway. And what is is his neighborly response? I think maybe we should let the Smiths and the police sort this out. Please let it go and let's not get involved. He's probably right about this one, but I am still not convinced that she isn't hiding somewhere amongst the strewn cars on the lawn. Look out large women with wild dark hair gold Pontiac drivers, I have a cell phone and know how to use it. In the immortal words of Sting "Every move you make every breath you take I'll be watching you."