This was not how I’d imagined meeting them.
Rachel parked at the curb. Before I got out, she grabbed my wrist.
“Hey.”
I looked at her.
“Whatever he says,” she said, “you don’t owe him an answer. You don’t have to explain yourself. You don’t have to be nice. You saw what you saw.”
“I know.”
“Say it.”
“I saw what I saw.”
“Good.” She let go. “Go get your house back.”
I got out of the car.
Officer Hale met me halfway up the driveway. He was younger than I’d pictured from his voice, maybe thirty-five, with close-cropped hair and the tired eyes of a man who had been standing in the sun for four hours.
“Ms. Whitaker?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for the documents. And the messages.” He lowered his voice. “Those messages changed things. My sergeant’s on the way. We’ve got a detective who’ll want to look at that lease.”
