A 30-Chapter Psychological Family Drama

The bomb squad did not come. I mention that because in the version of fear that exists in movies, a mysterious timer on a doorstep gets flashing lights and armored robots. In real life, two patrol officers arrived first.

One put on gloves.

The other told us to stay inside.

The timer was ordinary.

Cheap wood-colored plastic.

No wires.

No explosive material.

The note had no obvious fingerprints. The doorbell camera showed a person approaching from the side yard at 1:09 a.m., face hidden by a hood. They placed the timer down, never looked toward the camera, and left on foot. Height maybe five-seven to six feet.

Build average.

Useful enough to be useless.

Derek's GPS monitor placed him at Elaine's house fifteen miles away. I knew because Ortega told me before I asked.

"Could he send someone?"

"Yes."

"Could Elaine?"

"Yes."

"Could Carver?"

"Yes."

"So we have a thrilling number of options."

"Correct."

June stood in the kitchen wearing pajama pants and holding a baseball bat.

Ortega looked at it.

"Put that away before you accidentally assault the refrigerator."

"The refrigerator knows what it did."

Nobody laughed.

Then Emma walked into the hallway. She saw the police through the window.

"What happened?"

June immediately moved between her and the door.

"Nothing you need to worry about."

Emma stared at her.

"That means something I need to worry about."

June closed her eyes.

Parenting after terror was apparently mostly learning how many normal phrases no longer worked. I sat with Emma at the kitchen table while June checked on Lily. I did not tell her about the timer. I told her someone left something outside and police were checking it.

"Was it from Derek?"

"We don't know."

"You always say that now."

I looked at her.

"You're right."

"Adults know less than they say."

"Also true."

She picked at the edge of a placemat.

"I remembered something."

Every muscle in my body tightened.

I kept my voice normal.

"Okay."

"Am I supposed to tell you?"

The question hurt.

"You can tell me anything you want. But if it's about Derek's house, it may be better to tell the interviewer so I don't accidentally put ideas in your head."

Emma thought about that.

"Can I write it?"

"I think so, but let me ask first."

That was growth, I suppose.

Three days earlier I would have grabbed a notebook before she finished the sentence. Ortega arranged for the child advocate to call June in the morning.

Emma went back to bed.

At 3:20, the police left.

Nobody slept.

At breakfast, Lily ate cereal standing at the counter. June instinctively pulled out a stool.

Lily froze.

June pushed it back without comment. I stood beside Lily and ate mine standing too.

Emma joined us.

Then June sighed and stood.

Four people eating cereal at a kitchen counter like the chairs had offended us.

It was ridiculous.

It was also the first time Lily finished a full bowl since the hospital. At ten, the court reconsidered placement.

Natalie presented the recovered video.

Bell argued it had not yet been fully authenticated. The judge watched enough to see Derek holding the timer while Lily remained restrained after the seat tore. He did not watch all of it.

His face changed anyway.

The temporary third-party placement order was dissolved. Lily could come home with me. I thought I would feel triumphant. Instead I walked into the bathroom at the courthouse and cried so hard I had to sit on the closed toilet lid.

Natalie waited outside.

When I came out, she handed me a tissue.

"Your mascara is terrible."

"I know."

"You look like a raccoon with debt."

I laughed unexpectedly.

It came out wet and stupid.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Then she became serious.

"The judge also entered a protective order covering you and Lily. Derek cannot contact either of you directly or indirectly."

"The timer counts as indirect."

"If we can tie it to him."

"Right."

No clean victories.

That afternoon, we returned to my house with a police officer while a security company installed an alarm. Lily stopped on the front porch. She looked through the open door.

"Is the eye gone?"

I knew she meant the hidden camera.

"Yes."

"All the eyes?"

"Police checked."

She looked at the smoke detector.

"Can we take that one down too?"

It was a normal detector, but I understood.

"Yes."

I removed it temporarily and put it on the kitchen counter. We would replace it with one Lily chose. She picked a ridiculous white one with a green test light because the green looked "less spy." That evening, we ate pizza on a blanket on the living-room floor.

No chairs.

I did not make a big deal about it.

I was learning.

At 7:30, Detective Ortega called.

The note from the doorstep had been written with the same type of industrial marker used in Derek's garage.

Not proof.

Then he told me something more useful. A traffic camera two blocks from June's house captured a dark SUV at 1:06 a.m. The plate belonged to Elaine Voss.

My pulse jumped.

"So arrest her."

"She reported the SUV stolen at 1:40 a.m."

I stared at the wall.

"After the timer was left."

"Yes."

"Convenient."

"Very."

"Was it actually stolen?"

"Vehicle was found abandoned this afternoon. Steering column intact. No signs of forced entry."

"So someone had a key."

"Likely."

"Elaine?"

"Maybe."

There was that word again.

"Where was she at one?"

"Home. Derek was there. GPS confirms he was there. House security camera shows Elaine in her kitchen at 12:58 and again at 1:22."

"Then someone else."

"That's what we're looking at."

I thought of Carver.

"Have you found him?"

"No."

"Could he have Elaine's key?"

"Possible."

A knock sounded at my front door. I jumped so hard I dropped the phone.

The alarm panel chimed.

Lily froze in the living room.

"Mommy?"

I checked the doorbell camera.

A delivery driver stood outside holding a small cardboard box.

I did not order anything.

Ortega was still on the line.

"Do not open it."

"I know."

Police came again.

The box was safe.

Inside was not a timer.

It was worse.

A stack of printed photographs.

Me leaving work.

Me shopping for groceries.

June picking Emma up from school. Lily and me walking into the pediatrician's office six months ago. The oldest photograph was dated almost a year before Derek's hidden camera appeared in my house. On the back of the final photo, someone had written:

YOU WERE NEVER WATCHING THE RIGHT PERSON.

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(To be continued)

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