“Emma, the young man says he's from a home safety program. He has a clipboard and an identification badge.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did he give you a name?”
“Yes. Caleb.”
Detective Ortiz immediately wrote something in her notebook.
“What does he want?” I asked.
“He says you arranged a safety inspection because I've been living alone.”
My stomach turned.
I hadn't arranged anything.
But it was exactly the kind of thoughtful gesture my mother would expect from me.
I helped her with heavy shopping.
Checked her heating system every winter.
Made appointments when she needed repairs.
Whoever sent this stranger understood our relationship.
“Mom, he's lying.”
Silence.
Then she whispered, “He knows your name.”
I felt cold.
“He knows you work at the community center,” she continued. “He even knows you used to call me Mama Bear.”
My heart skipped.
That had been my childhood nickname for her.
I hadn't used it in years.
