Chương 7
Natalie looked at Travis.
Then Grant.
Then the ground.
“Yes.”
The answer was barely audible.
Grant exploded.
“Scared of what?”
Natalie stepped backward.
“You.”
He stared at her.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“There.”
She pointed at him.
“That.”
“What?”
“That thing where you decide I’m ridiculous before I finish talking.”
Grant looked genuinely confused.
“You’re upset.”
“I have been upset for three years.”
Travis turned toward her despite the officer beside him.
“Three years?”
She did not answer.
His face shifted from outrage to something wounded.
“You told me you liked living near them.”
“I liked not fighting with you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
His shoulders sagged slightly.
It was the first honest thing either of them had said to each other all afternoon.
Patel guided Travis toward the cruiser.
He resisted only enough to turn his head.
“Natalie.”
She wiped her face.
“I’ll call somebody.”
“My dad.”
She looked at Grant.
“No.”
Travis stopped walking.
“What?”
“I’ll call someone else.”
Grant’s voice sharpened.
“Natalie.”
She shook her head.
“I said no.”
Patel opened the rear door.
Travis looked at his wife for another second, then ducked inside.
The door shut with a heavy mechanical click.
Grant stood alone on the pavement.
For the first time since I had met him, nobody moved when he moved.
Nobody laughed when he laughed.
Nobody rushed to make his irritation easier.
He looked around and seemed to understand the change.
Then he looked at me.
“This is what you wanted.”
I almost answered.
Instead Sophie squeezed my hand.
I looked down at her.
She was exhausted.
That mattered more.
“I’m taking my daughter home.”
Ruiz nodded.
“We may need another statement later.”
“You have my number.”
Grant stepped in front of me.
Ruiz immediately said his name.
He raised both hands.
“I’m not touching anyone.”
“Then move.”
He looked at me instead.
“You need to hear this.”
“No.”
“The boundary issue is legitimate.”
“Then send the documents through an attorney.”
His jaw clenched.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Possibly.”
That answer bothered him.
He wanted defiance.
It was easier to fight than procedure.
I stepped around him.
Sophie and I crossed the street toward our house.
Behind us, conversations started in low bursts.
A police radio chirped.
The cruiser carrying Travis pulled away.
Someone asked whether the hot dogs were still edible.
Mr. Palmer said probably not, but people would eat them anyway.
At my front steps, Sophie stopped.
There was a white envelope tucked beneath the edge of the doormat.
I had not seen it when we left earlier.
My name was typed across the front.
No stamp.
No return address.
Sophie looked at me.
“Was that there before?”
“No.”
I glanced back toward the street.
Grant was still beside the officers.
Natalie sat on the curb with both hands over her face.
Darren was helping Mr. Palmer gather paper plates from the grass.
Nobody appeared to be watching us.
I picked up the envelope.
It was thick.
Inside were six photocopied pages.
The first was a property survey bearing what looked like my signature.
I had never signed it.
The second was a notarized boundary agreement transferring an eight-foot strip along the rear of my property.
My signature appeared there too.
I turned to the final page.
A handwritten note had been folded against it.
I opened it.
Three words were printed in block letters.
CHECK YOUR SHED.
Sophie read over my arm.
“What does that mean?”
I looked toward the backyard gate.
The latch was closed.
A faint line of mud crossed the concrete beneath it.
I had washed that walkway yesterday morning.
“Sophie, go back to Mr. Palmer.”
Her face changed immediately.
“No.”
“Please.”
“You just told the police we stay together when something’s wrong.”
“I said no such thing.”
“You meant it.”
She was right, which was inconvenient.
I folded the papers and slid them back into the envelope.
“We’re not going into the yard.”
“Then what?”
I pulled out my phone.
Not Sophie’s.
Mine.
I called Sergeant Ruiz.
She answered on the second ring.
“What happened?”
“There’s an envelope at my house with forged property documents and a note telling me to check my shed.”
Her voice became flat and professional.
“Do not touch anything else.”
“I already handled the envelope.”
“That’s fine.”
“Someone left it recently.”
“Stay outside.”
I looked toward Grant again.
He was watching me now.
Not the house.
Me.
Ruiz followed my gaze from across the street and saw my expression.
She lowered her phone.
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
“Walk back toward me.”
I took Sophie’s hand.
We had gone three steps when something crashed inside my backyard shed.
Sophie jumped.
Every officer turned toward the sound.
Grant’s face went completely still.
Ruiz reached for her sidearm.
“Everyone away from the house.”
Another crash came from behind the fence.
Then the shed door burst open.
A man I had never seen before stumbled into the yard carrying a red plastic fuel can.
The red can swung from his right hand as he stumbled over the threshold and nearly went down on one knee.
He caught himself against the doorframe, looked toward the street, and froze when he saw two uniformed officers already moving toward him.
For half a second nobody spoke.
Then Sergeant Ruiz shouted, “Drop the can.”
The man did.
It hit the grass on its side with a hollow plastic knock.
Something inside sloshed.
My body had already shifted in front of Sophie before I registered doing it.
“Hands where I can see them.”
The man lifted both hands.
He looked about fifty, narrow-faced, with gray stubble and a dark work shirt stained across the chest.
“I’m not armed.”
“Turn around.”
“I’m not—”
“Turn around.”
He did.
Officer Patel moved toward the gate while Ruiz covered him from several yards back.
The man glanced once toward Grant.
It lasted less than a second.
It was enough.
Grant saw that I saw it.
His expression changed.
Not much.
May you like
A tightening around the mouth.
I had spent too many years watching men lie badly under pressure not to recognize the moment one person silently asks another whether they are still keeping the same story.
