The shoplifting call had ended without an arrest.
The store manager provided a vague description of a woman who left before employees could determine whether a theft had occurred.
Grant considered the experience another example of people refusing to cooperate.
Reeves thought the report lacked enough reliable information to justify treating random people as suspects.
They'd disagreed privately about it while returning to patrol.
Then the burglary alarm at Oakridge Lane appeared on their mobile computer.
The original dispatch information was limited.
A residential security alarm had activated.
The monitoring company hadn't confirmed whether someone was authorized to enter.
There was no verified report of forced entry.
No identified suspect.
And no confirmed connection to the earlier shoplifting call.
Grant nevertheless began constructing a theory.
The residence was expensive.
The alarm had activated unexpectedly.
And the earlier report involved a woman leaving a nearby shopping area.
He told Reeves that they might have someone attempting to hide from the shoplifting investigation.
The younger officer looked at the screen.
"Those calls aren't linked."
Grant shrugged.
"Doesn't mean they're unrelated."
Reeves frowned.
"But we don't have a description from this address."
Grant glanced toward him.
"Then we'll find out when we get there."
The younger officer nodded reluctantly.
He didn't want to argue with his supervisor during an active response.
But he knew the facts hadn't yet supported Grant's theory.
And he also knew that once Grant formed an opinion, he didn't like being corrected.
When their patrol car entered Oakridge Lane, the neighborhood looked quiet.
The street was lined with well-maintained houses, large green lawns, and mature trees. A few residents were walking dogs, and a delivery truck was parked near the corner.
Grant saw Naomi's garage door standing open.
A silver Lexus was inside.
Its trunk was closed, but several shopping bags were visible near the passenger side.
Then he noticed a woman standing beside the car.
She wore a dramatic evening gown.
Her black corset and metallic olive-gold skirt looked striking against the garage's plain white walls.
Grant slowed the patrol car.
Reeves looked toward the house.
"Could be the homeowner."
Grant didn't answer.
He parked along the curb.
As the officers approached, Naomi saw them through the open garage.
She felt immediate relief.
The alarm response would be easy to resolve.
She could show her identification, explain the sensor update, and return to her evening.
"Officers," she called. "I'm glad you're here. The alarm was accidental."
Grant stopped near the entrance.
His eyes moved over her gown.
Then toward the Lexus.
"Who are you?"
Naomi frowned slightly.
"The homeowner."
He studied her.
"Name?"
"Naomi Carter."
Grant looked toward Reeves.
Then back at her.