I watched her move toward the driveway.
For a moment, I thought she was leaving.
But instead, she walked along the side of the house.
Toward the gate.
My heart began racing.
"Leah, she's going around back."
I hurried toward the patio doors.
Vivian had already reached the side gate.
It was closed, but the latch hadn't been designed as a heavy security lock.
She pushed against it.
For a moment, it held.
Then she reached over and manipulated the latch from the outside.
The gate opened.
I raised my phone again.
She stepped into the backyard.
Her face was no longer smiling.
She walked directly toward the dining table.
I opened the patio door only far enough to speak while remaining at the threshold.
"Mrs. Harlow! Stop!"
She turned.
"Get away from me!"
I stared.
"You're on my property."
She pointed toward the table.
"That food is a sanitation hazard."
My stomach tightened.
"You made it a hazard."
Vivian stepped toward the white plate.
I raised my voice.
"Don't touch anything!"
She hesitated.
Then looked toward my phone.
For a moment, her expression changed.
She seemed to recognize that I was still recording.
Then she did something unexpected.
She grabbed one of the red plastic cups and threw it toward the ground.
The cup bounced across the patio.
A small amount of juice splashed near the table leg.
Vivian stepped backward.
Then shouted, "Stop threatening me!"
I stared in disbelief.
I hadn't moved toward her.
My phone was held in front of me.
She pointed toward the house.
"He's attacking me!"
Leah appeared behind the glass door.
Her face was pale.
She could see the entire scene.
I kept my voice controlled.
"Vivian, I'm standing in my doorway. You're the one entering my yard without permission."
She looked toward the side gate.
Then toward the food.
For a moment, she seemed uncertain.
Finally, she reached for the specially prepared plate.
I stepped onto the patio, keeping several feet between us.
"Don't touch that."
She grabbed the edge.
"You're not going to accuse me of poisoning anyone."
I froze.
I hadn't used that word during our conversation at the door.
I'd asked what she put in the food.
I hadn't specifically accused her of poisoning.
For a moment, I looked directly at her.
"Then what did you sprinkle on it?"
Her face tightened.
"Seasoning."
I stared.
"From a container you carried in your handbag?"
She shook her head.
"You're twisting everything."
Then she shoved the plate toward the edge of the table.