She exhales and gives a small nod. “I have cameras. My son made me install them after Walter passed. Said I shouldn’t be living here alone without them.”
I nod, offering a reassuring smile. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to check your feed. It might’ve caught someone on camera.”
Her expression shifts to concerned curiosity, and she nods. “Of course, honey. You can look at whatever you need.”
“Your footage might help us identify the person responsible. It could be the break we need.”
Mrs. Dubois beams, the little terrier wiggling in her arms as if it, too, senses victory.
“Really? Wouldn’t that be something? Me, helping catch a criminal!”
“You might be the neighborhood’s newest crime stopper,” I tell her with a wink. “Better watch out, I’ll be drafting you into the DA’s office.”
She laughs, delighted. “Oh my stars. Imagine that.”
I follow her inside, careful not to trip over ceramic frogs and garden gnomes. She sets the dog down and bustles toward a narrow side table cluttered with framed photos and mail.
She opens her laptop and pulls up the footage with surprising ease. “My son taught me how to back everything up to the Cloud.”
I blink, impressed. “Wow. Look at you. Tech-savvy and stylish.”
Mrs. Dubois preens a little. “Took me a few tries, but I figured it out. Not bad for seventy-eight, huh?”
“Not bad at all.”
I lean over, fast-forwarding through blank screens until the timestamp hits 11:52 p.m. Sunday.
A full-sized SUV—dark, probably black—creeps into frame and stops right in front of Mrs. Dubois’s place. The windows are tinted too dark to see inside, and the plates are conveniently out of frame.
A tall figure emerges, hood up, in dark clothes. He walks with chilling calm, disappears from view for two minutes, then returns and gets back into the SUV.
Mrs. Dubois’s eyes widen. “Oh my,” she whispers. “He looks dangerous.”
“He could be. Would you mind if I sent this footage to myself?”
“Oh, certainly, dear. Anything to help catch this guy.”
I nod, type in my email, and hit send. The file pings through.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dubois. You’ve officially joined the Garden District Watch.”
She grins, hands on her hips. “I’ve always had a nose for trouble.”
Back on the sidewalk, I pull out my phone and tap the footage open again.
Damn the angle, blocking the plates—but I’ve got the vehicle, the make, the model, and where he parks. It’s not everything, but it’s a thread. And every predator eventually leaves one hanging.
I return to my house and lock the door behind me, toeing off my heels. The house hums with silence as my mind runs inventory on everything I’ve gathered.
The video file waits, and I replay it. He’s real. He’s deliberate. And he’s watching me.
And nowI’mwatching him.
I set the phone down and stand in the center of the room, heart steady, spine straight.
I’m not afraid.
He thinks he is the only one playing this game, but I know the rules too. I’m going to map his route, trace every angle, and studyevery move until the pattern reveals him. And when it does, when the dots connect and the evidence breathes life into the truth, I’ll be there.
