And now, sitting smugly in that space, was a black Toyota Camry.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. I circled once, then parked two rows down, muttering curses under my breath as I got out. My keys dug into my palm with the force of my irritation. I was ready to storm up to the car and leave a note of my own—one far less polite than anything I could imagine.
But before I could, I noticed something white fluttering under the windshield wiper.
A note.
I tugged it free and unfolded the paper. The handwriting was precise, almost elegant:
