Vivian put the empty container back inside her handbag.
Then, without warning, she raised her head and looked directly toward the patio door.
I froze.
Even though the afternoon reflections made it difficult to see inside, I suddenly felt certain she'd spotted me.
For one long second, neither of us moved.
Then Vivian smiled.
Not the polite smile she used during neighborhood meetings.
Not the tight, artificial expression she wore whenever somebody challenged her.
This was something colder.
Almost satisfied.
She lifted one finger toward her lips.
Then mouthed three words.
Keep filming, sweetheart.
My heart began hammering.
I backed away from the glass.
For a moment, I stared at my phone, checking that it had actually recorded everything.
The red recording indicator was still running.
I could see her standing in the backyard.
Her bright-pink shirt.
Her blonde hair.
The black handbag.
And the food she'd just contaminated with something she had no business putting there.
I lowered the phone.
Then turned toward the kitchen.
"Leah!"
My voice came out louder than I intended.
My wife appeared from the hallway carrying a stack of clean napkins.
She was thirty-five, with beautiful deep-brown skin, long natural black curls, and the tired but happy expression of someone who had been preparing a family celebration since morning.
"What's wrong?"
I pointed toward the backyard.
"Don't let anyone eat anything from that table."
She frowned.
"What?"
I grabbed her hand.
"Leah, listen to me. Vivian just put something in the food."
For a moment, my wife stared.
Then she laughed uncertainly.
"Put what?"
"I don't know."
I held up my phone.
"But I recorded her."
Leah looked toward the patio doors.
The color drained from her face.
"Where's Jasmine?"
Our eleven-year-old daughter had been playing in the living room with her cousin.
I turned immediately.
"Upstairs, baby. Keep them inside."
Leah looked frightened.
"Caleb, what is happening?"
I swallowed.
"I think somebody just tried to poison our cookout."
Outside, Vivian began walking toward the side gate.
Then she stopped.
She looked back at the table.
And did something that made my blood run cold.
She reached into her handbag again.
This time, she pulled out a small white card and placed it beneath the edge of the specially prepared plate.
Then she stepped away.
I zoomed in on my phone.
The card was too far away for me to read.
But I could see a short handwritten message.
Vivian adjusted the card until it faced the house.
Almost as though she wanted me to notice it.