Things were going just fine until we walked down the driveway and I spotted something on the windshield of my car. I gripped Mason’s hand, digging my nails into him, and froze. My eyes skirted the yard for any activity or movement. There was none.
“Stay here!” I ordered, letting go of his hand and darting to the car. I snatched the card from the windshield and raced back to Mason. “Come on, we’re going back in the house. No walk,” I said with my head on swivel, scanning everywhere from left to right in case someone was hiding behind the rosebushes or next to the garage. I grabbed his arm to pull him inside, but he jerked away.
“No,” he said stubbornly, crossing his arms in front of him, digging his heels in like it was about to be one of those times.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I bellowed. “You’re not doing this.” I grabbed his arm again and yanked him inside before he had a chance to go into his fit, slamming the door behind us and punching the security code in as fast as I could.
“Ma. Ma,” Mason yelled, trying to grab my face and get me to pay attention to him, but I ignored him. His cries couldn’t reach me. It was all about the card in my hand.
William Jones Landscape and Design
P.O. Box 241
（714） 902-5593
I flipped the card over:
We need to talk
My heartbeat exploded in my ears. I quickly untangled myself from Mason and raced to the other side of the house. His wails cut through the walls. He stomped on the floor when his cries didn’t summon me back.
“You’re fine. Go play with your toys,” I yelled as I whipped open John’s office door. I ran to his computer and jiggled the mouse, bringing the security camera footage back to life. I rewound in short clips. I didn’t have to wait long for movement.
6:23 a.m. A person slipped through our security gate and strode up my driveway like they didn’t have a care in the world. They weren’t trying to hold themselves back from running or frantically looking behind them. No, they were completely calm as they sauntered on up to my car and slipped their card underneath the windshield wiper.
I have no idea if it was the same person as last time, but their appearance was identical—average build, all in white like a painter, hat on, and head down. That’s not any kind of an outfit a person advertising lawn services wears, so there’s no way it’s someone trying to pick up new clients in the neighborhood. That, and they put on gloves before slipping the note on my windshield.
How many people does That Monster have working for him? How am I supposed to defend against a small army? They can get in and out of my neighborhood—on and off my property—undetected. That’s the scariest part.
I called security at the entrance, but they weren’t helpful at all this time. The first guy blew me off completely and didn’t even want to take the time to look at their cameras to see who’d come through the entrance this morning. I asked to speak with his manager immediately, but he wasn’t any better.
“Ma’am, ma’am, calm down,” the manager said. “Lots of people signed in and out at the front gate this morning because Abel’s Painting Service is painting the street numbers on all the curbs in Camden Estates. Didn’t you receive the notice? All residents were supposed to have been informed.”
“Yes, I got it.” Their dismissal of my concerns was infuriating. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. Someone got onto my personal property. They left something on my windshield. That’s trespassing. Harassment. Totally unacceptable, and we have to do something about it.”
“I understand your concerns, and I’ll have a talk with the owner of Abel’s. I’ll remind him that his employees are not to solicit on any of the neighboring properties.”
“It’s not that he was soliciting. He was able to get on my property. That’s extremely dangerous. We can’t have people doing that.” I smacked my hand on the table.
He cleared his throat. “I understand you’re upset, ma’am, and like I said, I’ll be speaking with the owner, but did he damage your property in any way?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Did you feel threatened in any way?”
“Yes!” I snapped. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. What part of that don’t you understand?”
“You felt threatened by a business card?” He didn’t hide his annoyance or his frustration. It didn’t help that I’d been calling nonstop since I’d found it. “I know you’re upset, but most of these guys have lots of side hustles. They’ve got wives. Families. Kids to feed. So they’re painting, but guess what? They’re probably doing lawn service, too, and even though it’s not exactly cool, they’re taking the opportunity to network and see if they can gain any new customers while they’re out here. Can you blame them for the hustle?”
“I blame you for letting them in.” I hung up on him.
Then I put Mason in the car and drove to the police station.
That Monster knows where I live. He knows my routine. He probably followed me here.
Oh my God, what if he followed me here?
I turn my head, straining to see as much as I can in each side mirror. I twist my body around, not trusting the rearview mirror to give me the complete view behind me. The parking lot is still pretty full. A few men in plain clothes tumble out of a car, and my heart speeds up all over again as one of them walks in my direction. What if it’s him? Or one of his people?
I press the door-lock button incessantly like I’ve been doing ever since we parked. The sound of the click reassures me even though we’re in a police station parking lot and there are officers everywhere. It could be one of them for all I know. There are plenty of crooked cops in this town.
I clutch both cards in my hand and peek at Mason in the back seat. He refuses to sit in the front. Getting him in the car used to be such a huge issue. He hated it and fought so hard, but eventually John and I got him to do it. When it came time to move him forward, he didn’t want to, and I refused to go through all that hassle again, so now I drive like I’m chauffeuring a grown man around.
He’s engrossed in Candy Crush. He’s got a ridiculously high score. Better than mine. Guilt pummels me. What will happen to him if I tell the truth? I’m all he has in this world. I can’t do that to him. Detective Layne won’t understand what happened. Nobody will.
There has to be another way.
SIXTEEN
CASEY WALKER
Nothing about Genevieve’s history fits with Savannah’s descriptions of her, but too many parts of her story line up for it to be false. Like the fact that there aren’t any pictures at Genevieve’s house of her doing the things she excelled at and enjoyed, but there are plenty of her beauty pageant photos. And I never noticed it before, but Genevieve rarely brings up Savannah in conversations about her family. She’s the same way with John. She talks about her family almost like it’s just her and Mason without anyone else attached to them.
I pull up Mason’s testing reports again. I’ve been through them so many times, but we’re missing something. We have to be. My gut’s screaming at me that Mason didn’t do this, and my gut is almost never wrong. People always ask how I’m able to connect with kids the way that I do, as if there’s a technique or a formula to follow, but there isn’t. At least not for me. Going to school gave me tools and all the latest research, but I just feel kids. It comes from my insides, and they’re telling me Mason’s innocent. My talk with Savannah has only strengthened the feeling.