She stopped beside the fence.
“Oh, goodness.”
I stared at her.
“You heard it?”
“The entire street heard it.”
Her eyes moved over the wreckage.
Then to me.
“Lucky nobody was hurt.”
The way she said lucky bothered me.
Not because of the word.
Because she was looking at the chair when she said it.
I crossed the lawn.
“Why were you in my yard this morning?”
Marlene’s expression barely changed.
“I wasn’t.”
“I saw you.”
“You saw me near the fence.”
“You were through the gate.”
“No.”
“Marlene.”
She sighed.
“Maybe you should maintain your things better instead of blaming neighbors whenever something breaks.”
Laura stepped beside me.
“Daniel hasn’t blamed you for anything.”
Marlene looked at her.
“He’s clearly about to.”
I pointed toward the support.
“Did you touch that?”
“No.”
“Then why were you there?”
“I told you.”
“The imaginary cat?”
Her mouth tightened.
“I thought I heard an animal.”
“You specifically told me you were looking for your cat.”
“I misspoke.”
“You don’t own one.”
“Exactly why I said I misspoke.”
She took a slow sip of tea.
I had known Marlene for four years.
She could turn the most obvious contradiction into an argument about vocabulary.
I started to respond.
Laura touched my arm.
“Don’t.”
Marlene smiled.
That smile vanished when the first police cruiser turned onto our street.
Officer Naomi Perez arrived with another officer named Grant Lewis.
I showed them the tank.
Then the damaged frame.
Officer Lewis crouched but didn’t touch it.
“You have cameras?”
“Three.”
Marlene, still standing at the fence, said, “Of course he does.”
Perez looked at her.
“You live next door?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see what happened?”
“No.”
“Were you on this property today?”
Marlene glanced at me.
“I walked near the garden entrance.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Marlene’s voice hardened.
“I may have stepped through the gate briefly.”
“Why?”
“I thought I heard an animal.”
Perez wrote something down.
“What kind of animal?”
Marlene paused.
“A cat.”
I almost laughed.
Perez noticed.
“You find it?”
“No.”
“You touch the tank?”
“Absolutely not.”
Perez nodded.
“We’ll need to review the security footage.”
Marlene’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
She had expected cameras.
Just not all of them.
My first camera covered the driveway and side gate.
At 7:18 that morning, it recorded Marlene leaving her yard.
She looked down the street.
Then she walked toward my side gate.
She did not call for a cat.
Did not look under bushes.
Did not appear confused.
She opened the gate and entered.
Seven minutes later, she came back out.
Officer Perez paused the video.
“What was she doing for seven minutes?”
“I don’t know.”
Camera two answered part of the question.
It was mounted above the patio.
That footage showed Marlene crossing the garden.
She walked directly to the water tank.
No searching.
No wandering.
She stood beside the metal support for nearly five minutes.
Sometimes her body blocked the camera.
Once, she crouched.
Then she stood and looked toward my chair.
Not casually.
She stared at it.
Then at the tank.
Then back at the chair.
Officer Lewis leaned closer to the screen.
“Play that again.”
I did.
Marlene stared at the chair.
Tank.
Chair.
Then she stepped toward the fence.
Laura covered her mouth.
“She knew.”
Perez looked at her.
“Knew what?”
“That Daniel sits there.”
I felt something heavy settle in my stomach.
Everyone knew I gardened.
But Marlene had watched my routine more closely than I realized.
Most weekdays, if I was home by four, I spent thirty or forty minutes outside.
I watered by hand.
Checked leaves.
Trimmed dead growth.
Then sat in that chair beside the herb beds.
Same place.
Same time.
Marlene’s upstairs bathroom window faced the garden.
She could have seen me there every day.
Officer Perez asked, “Is that all the footage?”
“No.”
I looked toward the detached garage.
“There’s another camera.”
Laura frowned.
“What other camera?”
“The one behind the garage.”
“When did you put that there?”
“Two months ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it was supposed to watch the tool shed.”
I had installed a cheap battery camera after several small items disappeared.
A garden sprayer.
A coil of hose.
Two packages of fertilizer.
Nothing expensive enough to involve police.
I assumed neighborhood kids were cutting through the yard.
The third camera faced the rear corner from a completely different angle.
Unlike the patio camera, Marlene couldn’t easily see it from her property.
I opened the app.
The morning footage loaded.
We watched.
Marlene appeared at 7:19.
This angle showed her left side.
It also showed her hands.
Laura whispered, “Oh my God.”