The dreaded note

On my way out the door, rushing to get to the vacant rental to show it, and I get to my car and what do you suppose is on the windshield? A note. Folded and tucked into a plastic bag (this is rainy Seattle, after all). Aww, I thought as cartoon-style sparkles and hearts danced around my head. S. left me a note! I open it and-

I watched a person driving a dark minivan pull out of the house on the east side of the street and dent your car. The windows were up and the driver didn't stop.

What's tha-? Dent? My CAR?!?! I ran around and yep, there was a new dent. Paint scraped just to be sure I can't put off the repair.

Now I am on the hunt for a dark minivan driving guiltily on my block. Admittedly, my block is a parking disaster. Narrow, fairly steep hill, often parked up and competitive, cars on both sides of the street with driveways cut in at points that make us all, at times, very *close* to our neighbors. Do I take up one of the valuable street spaces? No, I do not. I block our own driveway where S. leaves his truck. We take two spaces no one else can take to ease the pressure out there just a little bit. My thanks for this act of neighborliness - one neighbor plows into my car and dashes away, and another better neighbor at least tells me about it, but leaves no contact info. That info would be very helpful now because there is no dark minivan out there, but there is a dark station wagon with storage thing on top and two dark SUVs. Could it have been one of these? And was it actually coming out of that driveway, or just parked on that part of the street?

I may never know.