Linda's eyebrows rise sharply at the mention of multiple families, her mental calculator already tallying potential violations. How many guests are you expecting, if you don't mind me asking? Just family and close friends, Bobby answers, lifting Zoe into his arms with easy strength. Nothing elaborate, I see. Linda's gaze sweeps over their modest decorations.
Balloons, a small banner, folding tables borrowed from Bobby's precinct, but her expression suggests she's cataloging evidence rather than admiring party preparations. Well, I certainly hope everyone knows where to park. Street parking can become quite congested, and we wouldn't want to block anyone's driveways. Mrs. Carter finally speaks, her voice quiet, but firm. The Williams family are wonderful neighbors, Mrs. Morrison.
Very considerate. Linda's smile becomes even more brittle. Oh, I'm sure they are. I'm simply looking out for everyone's best interests. She adjusts her purse strap with unnecessary force.
Community standards benefit us all. Bobby sets Zoe down gently, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder. The gesture appears casual, but his body language subtly shifts. Feet planted, shoulders squared, the unconscious stance of someone prepared to shield what matters most. We appreciate your concern, Mrs. Morrison.
Everything will be handled appropriately. I'm certain it will be. Linda's tone drips with false confidence, as if she's already mentally rehearsing her next move. Enjoy your celebration. She retreats toward her house with measured steps, her posture radiating disapproval despite her polite words.
As her front door closes with a decisive click, Bobby notices her living room curtains flutter, a sign that observation will continue from a distance. Mrs. Carter shakes her head sadly. Some people carry too much poison in their hearts. Bobby kneels down to Zoe's eye level, his expression softening as he focuses on what truly matters. What do you think, birthday girl?
Should we finish decorating so your friends have the best party ever? Zoe's delighted squeal erases the lingering tension as she races toward the backyard. Her joy infectious and pure. Bobby follows, but his peripheral vision catches the slight movement of Linda's curtains. 22 years of police work has taught him to recognize when someone is watching, waiting, planning.