Louis built the gazebo for one reason; his wife wanted it. She damn well insisted on it, in fact, and if he didn’t want his life to be a living hell, he’d build it. No time during the work week with swing shifts and long hours on the line, but on his rotating days off, Louis built the gazebo.

Or rather, rebuilt it.

The gazebo had a habit of unbuilding itself. He put the foundation up, it moved. He put the supports up, they came down. He put the roof on. Sometimes he’d find it the next morning laying next to the rest of the dismantled structure. Some days he had to go looking for it. But the gazebo never stayed assembled.

At first his wife, Janie, had laughed about it. Then she’d started making comments about men who wouldn’t read directions and how hard was it to build a damn gazebo.

Louis had stopped laughing a month ago. There was nothing funny about two by fours he worked goddamn hard to pound together getting taken apart by vandals or punk kids who had nothing better to do.

Then he put up a webcam.