“No!”
“Yes.”
“The whole car?”
“The whole thing.”
She acted shocked.
Concerned, even.
“That’s horrible.”
I watched her carefully.
“I called the police.”
“Good. You should.”
Nothing changed in her expression.
No nervousness.
No hesitation.
Nothing I could use.
“I hope they figure out who did it,” she added.
“Me too.”
Then she smiled and went back inside.
That was when I finally ordered security cameras.
They were obviously too late to catch whoever had damaged my car.
But I refused to let anyone walk onto my property unnoticed again.
—
Yesterday morning, I was drinking coffee when someone began pounding on my front door.
Not knocking.
Pounding.
“Christine!”
I recognized Denise’s voice immediately.
I put down my mug and opened the door.
She stood there in a bathrobe with messy hair and one slipper barely hanging onto her foot.
Her face was bright red.
She looked furious.
For once, there was no smug smile.
