Barbara pointed toward Jordan. “That boy damaged my car and now he’s taking a package.”
Caleb pushed past the front door. “I damaged your car.”
Barbara looked at him and softened immediately. “Caleb, you don’t have to keep saying that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You’re upset.”
“I threw the football.”
Barbara shook her head. “Jordan pressured you.”
Jordan stared at her from behind Natalie.
Caleb’s voice rose. “He told me to go home because you scared him.”
Barbara stiffened. “I did no such thing.”
“You made him fix my dent.”
“Someone needed consequences.”
Caleb shouted, “I did it!”
Doors began opening.
Mr. Franklin came outside first. Then Priya Desai from across the cul-de-sac stepped onto her porch holding a coffee mug. Seventeen-year-old Mason Clark came down his driveway with his phone already recording.
Barbara noticed the audience and lifted her chin. “I was protecting the neighborhood.”
Natalie stepped down one porch stair. “From my son?”
“From suspicious behavior.”
“What suspicious behavior?”
Barbara looked toward Jordan. “He doesn’t belong wandering around people’s property.”
“This is his property.”
“I had no way to know that.”
“You have watched him live here for almost five years.”
Barbara shook her head. “I’ve seen him around.”
Natalie’s hands curled at her sides. “Around?”
Rourke stepped forward. “Everyone needs to lower the temperature.”
Natalie turned toward him so quickly that he stopped. “No.”
“Ma’am.”
“You do not get to arrive because she made a false assumption, repeat the assumption without verification, put your hand on a taser in front of my child, and then instruct everyone else to become calmer so you feel more comfortable.”
Mason whispered toward his phone, “I got all of that.”
Rourke heard him.
His attention snapped toward the camera.
Natalie saw concern appear for the first time.
Mr. Franklin walked closer. “Jordan has lived there since before my granddaughter started kindergarten.”
Priya raised one hand. “My door camera covers part of Barbara’s driveway.”
Barbara turned. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Priya answered, “It might show who hit your car.”
Caleb said, “Me.”
Barbara ignored him again.
Jordan finally spoke from behind his mother. “Why won’t you believe him?”
Barbara looked toward him.
For the first time all afternoon, she seemed to have no prepared answer.
A second cruiser arrived nine minutes later.
Sergeant Lena Ortiz stepped out. She was forty-six, Puerto Rican, short enough that Rourke towered over her and composed enough that height stopped mattering immediately.
She spoke to Rourke first.
Then Natalie.
Then Caleb.
Then Jordan.
Then Barbara.
Finally she asked to see the package.
Jordan pointed toward the porch bench.
Lena walked up, leaned toward the label, and read it aloud. “Jordan Elijah Hayes, 284 Alder Grove Lane.”
She looked toward Rourke.
“You didn’t read this?”
“No, Sergeant.”
“Did you knock?”
“No.”
“Run the address?”
“No.”
“Confirm the caller’s description?”
“I was in the process.”
“You drew your taser.”
Rourke’s face tightened. “He refused commands.”
Lena looked at Jordan. “What commands?”