She was forty-seven, with short dark hair, observant brown eyes, and the measured way of speaking common to people who'd learned that complicated investigations often began with ordinary details.
She introduced herself in my living room.
Then asked whether I could walk through the sequence from the beginning.
I showed her the original recording.
She watched it twice.
The first time, she barely spoke.
The second time, she asked me to pause at several moments.
Vivian approaching the table.
The small container.
The folded paper.
The separate plate.
And the reserved card.
Rebecca leaned closer to the screen.
"What was on the paper she examined?"
"I couldn't see it."
"Did she take it with her?"
"Yes."
The detective nodded.
Then asked who knew the cookout was happening.
I explained the invitations.
The neighbors.
The children.
The planned homeowners' meeting.
And the ongoing disagreement over the HOA's finances.
She listened carefully.
When I mentioned Eleanor Bell, her expression changed slightly.
"Former treasurer?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
Rebecca made a note.
"Was she expected at the cookout?"
"Yes."
The detective looked toward the patio.
For a moment, she seemed thoughtful.
Then asked whether anyone had specific dietary restrictions.
I told her about Eleanor's separate plate.
Rebecca stopped writing.
She looked directly at me.
"Which plate?"
I pointed through the glass.
"The white one."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she asked who prepared it.
"Leah."
"Did Mrs. Harlow know?"
I hesitated.
"I don't know."
Rebecca nodded slowly.
Then asked me to describe any previous threats involving Eleanor.
I told her about the anonymous letter.
The grocery store encounter.
And Vivian's repeated efforts to prevent the audit.
The detective listened.
Then said something that made my stomach tighten.
"We need to determine whether the food tampering was directed at a particular person."
I looked toward the backyard.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then whispered, "You think she was trying to hurt Eleanor?"
Rebecca didn't answer prematurely.
She said the investigation needed to establish what substance was involved, whether it was harmful, and what the evidence showed about intent.
I nodded.
But the possibility was already impossible to ignore.
Leah returned home that evening after the investigators finished their initial work.
The backyard table had been cleared through the evidence process.
The affected food was gone.
The patio looked unnaturally empty.
Jasmine walked slowly toward the glass doors.
For a moment, she stared.
Then looked up at me.
"Daddy, did the police take our dinner?"
I knelt beside her.
"Yes, sweetheart."
She frowned.
"Why?"