Linda did not nod back.
She continued talking into the phone.
Danielle turned toward the house.
A vehicle entered the street behind her.
She heard the engine slow.
Then another.
Danielle glanced over her shoulder.
Two marked police cruisers turned onto Hawthorne Ridge.
The first stopped at the curb directly in front of her property.
The second pulled behind it.
Red and blue lights began flashing.
Danielle stopped walking.
She looked at Linda.
Linda lowered the phone.
That answered the first question.
The driver’s door of the lead cruiser opened.
A stocky white man in his mid-fifties stepped out.
Short gray hair.
Weathered face.
Dark patrol uniform.
Sergeant stripes.
He closed the door and immediately looked at Danielle.
Not the house.
Not Linda.
Danielle.
The second officer emerged from the passenger side.
He was younger, perhaps twenty-eight.
Brown hair.
Lean build.
His eyes moved between Danielle and the address mounted on the stone pillar beside the driveway.
The sergeant approached.
“Ma’am.”
Danielle remained where she was.
“Morning.”
“What are you doing here?”
Danielle looked toward her front door.
Then back at him.
“Getting my package.”
The younger officer glanced at the box beneath her arm.
The sergeant did not.
“This your house?”
“Yes.”
“Identification.”
Danielle took a slow sip of coffee.
“Am I suspected of a crime?”
The officer’s expression changed slightly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
People who expected immediate obedience often reacted poorly to questions.
“I asked for identification.”
“I heard you.”
“Then provide it.”
Danielle balanced the package against her hip.
“My identification is inside.”
The officer pointed toward the street.
“Stay where you are.”
Danielle looked toward her own house.
“You asked me for identification that is inside the house, then told me not to go inside.”
The younger officer looked down.
The sergeant stepped closer.
“What’s your name?”
“Danielle Carter.”
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Six weeks.”
“Anybody else inside?”
“No.”
“You have proof this is your residence?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Inside.”
Again, the younger officer’s eyes shifted.
Danielle saw it.
He understood the contradiction.
The sergeant seemed not to care.
“Ma’am, we received a call about someone suspicious wandering around this property.”
Danielle glanced across the street.
Linda Harper suddenly became interested in one of her shrubs.
“I walked from my front door to my mailbox.”
“Caller said you were checking windows.”
“No.”
“Caller said you were attempting to enter the residence.”
“I entered it last night.”
The younger officer almost smiled.
The sergeant did not.
“I’m Sergeant Frank Mercer.”
Danielle nodded.
“Lieutenant Colonel Danielle Carter.”
Mercer looked at her sweatshirt.
Then at her sweatpants.
“Lieutenant colonel?”
“Yes.”