Chapter 6: What the Neighbor Saw
Margaret Alderman was seventy-three years old, had lived next door for nineteen years, and kept a garden that made the rest of the street look careless.
She answered the door before I finished knocking, as if she had been expecting me.
"Claire." She stepped back to let me in.
"I heard your car this morning.
Come sit down."
Her kitchen smelled like toast and something floral.
She put the kettle on without asking and settled across from me at a small round table near the window that looked directly onto the side of my house.
"I need to ask you about the last three days," I said.
"I thought you might." She folded her hands.
"The woman arrived Tuesday evening.
Around seven.
She had a bag — not large, but not small either.
Julian let her in."
"Did you recognize her?"
"I'd seen her before.
At least twice in the past two months.
Once when you were away at that conference in March.
Once on a Sunday afternoon about six weeks ago." She paused.
"I didn't say anything because I told myself it was business.
Julian works from home sometimes.
People visit."
"But Tuesday was different?"
"Tuesday she didn't leave." Margaret looked at me directly.
"Her car was still there Wednesday morning.
And Wednesday night."
I kept my expression steady.
"Was it there this morning?"
"It was gone by the time I came out at six.
But the lights were on in your house until past midnight." She reached across and briefly touched my hand.
"I'm sorry, Claire.
I should have called you."
"You didn't know what you were looking at."
"I had a feeling." She withdrew her hand.
"There's something else."
I waited.
"Yesterday afternoon — Wednesday — Evelyn came out of the house and went to your car.
Your old blue one, the one that's been parked in the drive since you left."
"That car is mine.
I drove Dana's."
"She tried the door.
It was locked.
Then she went around to the passenger side.
Then she went back inside." Margaret's eyes were steady.
"About twenty minutes later, Julian came out with a small box.
He put it in the boot of his car and drove away.
He was back within the hour."
Something shifted in my chest.
"What kind of box?"
"Cardboard.
Medium size.
The kind you'd use for files."
I thought about the desk in the guest room.
The red folder was the one I had taken.
But the drawer had held other things too — older statements, a copy of my aunt's original will, correspondence from the estate attorney.
"Margaret," I said carefully, "would you be willing to write down what you saw?
Dates, times, what you observed?
And sign it?"
She didn't hesitate.
"I'll do better than that.
I have a security camera on my front porch.
My son installed it after a package was stolen last year." She stood and moved to the counter, where a small tablet was charging.
"It covers the street and most of both driveways."
She turned the screen toward me.
The footage was clear.
Timestamp in the corner.
Julian's car in the drive.
A woman with dark hair letting herself in through the front door on Tuesday at 7:14 PM.
And on Wednesday at 2:51 PM — Evelyn, moving along the side of my car, trying each door in turn.
Then Julian, twenty-two minutes later, carrying a cardboard box.
"Can you send this to me?" I said.
"Already copied it to a drive for you." She opened a kitchen drawer and produced a small USB drive.
"I made two copies.
One for you and one I'll keep here."
I looked at her across the table.
"Why?"
She met my eyes.
"Because you planted those roses along my fence four years ago when my back was too bad to do it myself.
And because I've watched that man treat this house like it belonged to him for six years." She pushed the drive across the table.
"It's yours, Claire.
All of it.
It always was."
I picked up the drive.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Patricia: *Garrett Finch just called.
Julian is claiming you removed financial documents from the property before leaving and that the red folder was planted.
He wants an emergency injunction.*
I typed back: *I have security footage of Evelyn and Julian removing a box of documents from the property on Wednesday afternoon.
May you like
Sending now.*
Three seconds later, Patricia replied with a single word: *Perfect.*
