Chapter 6: What Danny Had Seen
After breakfast, I sat with Danny at the table and asked him to tell me everything he remembered.
He wasn't dramatic about it.
He spoke the way he always spoke — carefully, a little slowly, like he was making sure each word was the right one.
He'd gotten that from his father.
"It started maybe in the spring," he said.
"I noticed it because I'd get home from school before you did sometimes.
I'd look out my window and she'd already be at hers."
"Every time?"
"A lot of times.
Not every time." He thought about it.
"But whenever there was a car in our driveway that wasn't yours, she'd be watching.
Like she was waiting to see if you'd come home and what you'd do about it."
"Did she ever say anything to you?"
He paused.
"Once.
In July, I think.
I was getting the mail and she was outside.
She said —" He stopped, pressed his lips together.
"She said, 'Your mom really needs to learn how to get along with people.'"
The kitchen was very quiet.
"She said that to you."
"Yeah." He looked at his plate.
"I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to get more upset about the driveway thing.
You were already stressed."
I reached across the table and put my hand over his.
He let me.
"Danny.
From now on, you tell me.
Okay?
Whatever she says to you, whatever you see — you tell me."
He nodded.
I called Ruth Calloway that afternoon and told her what Danny had said.
"How old is he?" she asked.
"Twelve."
"Old enough to give an account.
I'd like to take a written statement from him if you're comfortable with that — with you present, of course.
What he describes about the window watching could establish a pattern of deliberate behavior.
It supports the argument that this wasn't impulsive.
She was monitoring you."
"She was enjoying it," I said.
"That's what Diane said too.
That she looked satisfied."
"People like this usually do." Ruth's voice was dry but not unkind.
"I've requested the school file on your behalf.
We should have it within a few days.
In the meantime, I'd like you to write down every incident you can remember — dates, what was said, who was present.
Go as far back as you can."
I spent that evening doing exactly that.
I sat at the kitchen table after Danny went to bed and wrote for two hours.
Every time I'd come home to find a car in my driveway.
Every conversation with Renee.
Every shrug, every eye roll, every "you have plenty of room." The woman with the groceries.
The sister.
The friends I'd never met.
I wrote down the night of the ER.
Every word Renee had said in that doorway.
When I finished, I had four pages.
I was reading back through them when my phone buzzed.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*This is Patricia.
Diane gave me your number.
I was at the gathering three weeks ago.
I think you should know — Renee has been talking to more people than just us.
I saw her speaking to your HOA board chair last week.
I don't know what she said.
But I thought you should know.*
I read it twice.
We didn't have a mandatory HOA.
We had a voluntary neighborhood association — mostly social, occasional maintenance issues.
But the board chair was a man named Gerald who took it more seriously than anyone else on the street.
He organized the annual block party.
He was the one people called when there was a dispute about a fence line or a noise complaint.
May you like
If Renee had gotten to Gerald, she hadn't just been working on the neighbors.
She'd been building a case.
