Renee nodded.
“Description?”
He hesitated.
Renee already knew.
“Black woman in a swimsuit?”
Officer Hayes looked down.
“That was included.”
Renee exhaled through her nose.
“I purchased this property three weeks ago. I closed through a local title office, the utilities are in my name, and property records are public.”
She gestured toward the house.
“I moved in last Friday.”
Delgado nodded.
“Understood.”
“I haven’t introduced myself to the block because I’ve been working in Washington.”
Renee glanced toward the pool.
“I thought I might spend one Saturday afternoon reading in my own backyard before becoming a community project.”
Officer Hayes almost smiled, then stopped herself.
Renee noticed.
“Who called?”
Delgado could not disclose every detail casually, but he did not need to.
Renee looked toward the fence.
“White woman across the street?”
Neither officer answered.
“Front porch?”
Silence.
“Floral chair cushion?”
Hayes looked toward Delgado.
Renee nodded to herself.
“I’ve seen her watching.”
That surprised them.
Renee had noticed Linda the first morning after she moved in. She noticed the curtains shifting. She noticed the woman on the porch.
She noticed the binoculars too.
Renee spent enough of her career observing people to recognize when she had become somebody else’s subject.
She simply hoped it would stop at staring.
It had not.
Officer Delgado apologized again.
Renee shook her head.
“I’m not angry with you.”
Then she added, “But I am tired.”
The word carried more weight than either officer expected.
Renee slipped her wallet back inside the tote.
“Tell the caller the property owner has been identified.”
Delgado nodded.
Renee reached for her book.
“And please tell her she’s welcome to introduce herself like a neighbor next time.”
The officers left through the gate.
Across the street, Linda stood beside the hedges waiting for validation.
She received none.
Neither officer walked toward her.
They returned directly to the cruisers.
Officer Hayes climbed inside first.
Delgado glanced toward Linda only once before getting into his vehicle.
Then both cars drove away.
Linda felt her stomach drop.
Something had gone wrong.
The woman was still beside the pool.
No handcuffs.
No questioning.
No police car remaining.
Linda went inside.
She placed the watering can beside the door and stood in the entryway.
The house suddenly felt much quieter.
Her phone rang twenty minutes later.
Marjorie.
Linda ignored it.
Then a text appeared.
Two cops at the Walsh house? What happened?
Linda did not respond.
She opened her tablet.
For reasons she could not fully explain, she typed the woman’s name after finding it through the county property database.
Renee Wallace federal law enforcement.
Results appeared immediately.
Photographs showed Renee standing beside governors, agency officials, judges, and congressional committee members. Another image showed her speaking behind a podium after coordinating a multistate financial-crimes investigation. Her biography described twenty-four years of federal service.
Linda stared.
Associate Deputy Director.
Career federal investigator.
Former regional director.
Recipient of multiple public-service awards.
Her face grew hot.
She had not merely called the police on an innocent homeowner.
She had called the police because a Black woman she did not recognize looked too comfortable beside her own swimming pool.
Renee’s job made the mistake more embarrassing.
It did not make the mistake more wrong.
That distinction would take Linda longer to understand.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time it was the Willow Creek Facebook group.
Someone had posted a blurry photograph of the police vehicles.
Anybody know what happened on Sycamore?
Comments appeared quickly.
One neighbor mentioned the new owner had been questioned.
Another wrote, Apparently somebody thought she was trespassing at her own house.
Then came the comment Linda dreaded.
Who called?
Nobody answered publicly.
Yet.
Linda closed the app.
Ten minutes later, somebody posted an article about Renee’s appointment.
Another comment appeared.
Wait, THAT’S the new neighbor?
Then another.
Someone called Plano PD on a federal director sunbathing at her own pool?
Linda shut the tablet.
Her mistake had already escaped her control.
At four-thirty, the doorbell rang.
Linda froze.
She considered pretending she was not home.
Then she looked through the peephole.
Renee Wallace stood outside.
No swimsuit now.
She wore loose linen pants and a navy blouse.
Her expression was calm.
Linda opened the door halfway.
“Ms. Wallace.”
“Renee is fine.”
Linda swallowed.
Renee looked toward the porch.
“May I speak with you for a minute?”
Linda stepped outside.
Neither woman sat.
For several seconds, the only sound came from sprinklers running two houses away.
Renee spoke first.
“You called the police.”
Linda opened her mouth.
“I was concerned.”
“About what?”
“I didn’t know who you were.”
Renee waited.
Linda added, “The house had only recently sold.”
“Yes.”
“I never saw you moving in.”
“I moved while you weren’t watching.”
The sentence was not delivered cruelly.
That somehow made it sharper.
Linda’s face flushed.
“I thought somebody could have gotten into the backyard.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Renee nodded.
That answer was closer to the truth than Linda intended.
Renee folded her arms loosely.
“Did you consider walking over and introducing yourself?”
Linda looked down.
“No.”
“Did you consider checking public property records?”
“No.”
“Did you see me break anything?”