The charges against Glynis came the same week, and they were shorter, and somehow they were the ones everyone talked about.
Theft of property from a person. Tampering with physical evidence. Interfering with an emergency call. And, from the county health department, separately, a referral for falsifying pool operation records, two summers' worth, every one of them signed in her careful imitation of her husband's hand.
It was the third charge people fixated on. I didn't understand why until Nico showed me his phone one evening, at dinner, with an expression I couldn't read.
"Mom," he said. "You're kind of famous."
Somebody, probably Tobiah Grenfell, had filed a public records request for the 911 audio. The city released a redacted version, my name and address bleeped, Everett's medical information cut, about ninety seconds in all. Someone had put it on the internet over a still photograph of the pool with crime tape across the gate, and set white captions on top of it, word by word, as it played. My voice, telling Keturah I had recorded the delivery. A rustle. Glynis, high and fast: You don't get to do that. Not to him. Then a gap, then Glynis again: There. It's gone. And then Keturah, level and unhurried, the way I'll always hear her now in my head:
Ma'am, this is Cholla Springs Emergency Communications. You are holding a phone with an active nine-one-one call on it.
Then nothing. Four full seconds of nothing, in which you could hear, very faintly, a man coughing. And then a woman whispering her own name.
It had two million views. By the next week it had nine. People had made reaction videos to it. People had made it into a sound you could put under your own videos, so that teenagers all over the country were lip-syncing You are holding a phone with an active nine-one-one call on it while pretending to catch their friends eating the last slice of pizza. The comments under the original were a sea of the word Karen. HOA Karen. Pool Karen. Karen found out. I scrolled through about two hundred of them before I made myself stop.
"Does it bother you?" Nico said.
"Yes," I said.