Pierce was already watching Marcus through the open side gate. “Who’s the big guy?”
“Probably the homeowner.” Blake shrugged.
Pierce glanced toward the stone house and pool. “Doesn’t look like it.”
Aaron turned toward him. “What does the homeowner look like?”
Pierce said, “Relax. I’m just saying.”
They entered through the open gate. Marcus stood near the smoker carrying the first plate he had made for himself after spending most of the day feeding everyone else.
Pierce called out, “Hey.”
Marcus turned. “Afternoon.”
“What’s going on here?”
“Graduation cookout.”
“Whose?” Pierce asked.
“My daughter’s.” Marcus gestured toward Naomi.
“You live here?” “Yes.”
“Identification.” Marcus balanced his plate.
“My wallet’s inside.”
Pierce’s eyes immediately moved toward Marcus’s hands. “Don’t reach.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You just said you need your wallet.”
“I said where it is.”
Blake stepped slightly to one side so he could see the house. “What’s your full name, sir?”
“Marcus James Ellison.”
Pierce asked, “Owner’s name?”
Marcus stared at him. “Marcus James Ellison.”
“Rental?” “No.”
“You’re telling me you own this house?”
“Yes.”
Pierce looked toward the three-car garage, pool, outdoor kitchen, and carefully landscaped yard. “Expensive place.”
Marcus’s expression changed. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Making conversation.”
“You should work on it.”
Aaron looked down because the corner of his mouth almost moved. Pierce did not appreciate the joke.
“What do you do for work?” he asked.
Marcus took a breath. “What does my employment have to do with a noise complaint?”
Pierce tilted his head. “Who said this was only a noise complaint?”
“You did when you walked in.”
“We also received a suspicious-person call.”
Marcus looked toward the neighboring houses. “About who?”
“You.”
For the first time, genuine surprise crossed his face. “I’m the suspicious person at my own barbecue.”
“We don’t know it’s your barbecue.” Pierce crossed his arms.
“You asked me.” Marcus replied.
“People lie.”
“Check the county property database.”
Pierce’s jaw tightened immediately. “Do not tell me how to do my job.”
Marcus nodded once. “All right.”
That was the moment he became careful. Not because he was impressed by the uniform, and not because he believed he had done anything wrong. He became careful because he had spent too much of his professional life studying how ordinary conversation could become official language once an officer decided the other person was the problem.
Calm could become evasive. Questions could become argumentative.
Size could become threatening. Standing could become advancing.
Silence could become refusal. Marcus knew exactly how much work one adjective could do inside a report.
“My identification is inside the kitchen,” he said. Pierce nodded toward the house.