My heart dropped to my stomach.
"You were trespassing on private property. You contaminated potential evidence." She held up her phone. "I have the footage. Time-stamped. Clear as day."
"I wasn't stealing?—"
"You took items from Whitney's trash. And mine!" She lowered the phone. "What the hell were you thinking?"
My mouth went dry. Clearly, I wasn't. "I was looking for evidence. Something that could help Mia."
Her voice vibrated with barely repressed anger. "You talked to Alexis. And Zara, my daughter. You questioned minors without their parents present. You pressured them for statements. That's witness tampering, Dahlia. Do you understand what you've done to your daughter's case?"
"I was trying to help her."
"You've made everything worse. The DA can use your interference to discredit every witness statement. Every piece of evidence. They could argue the entire circle has been contaminated by a desperate mother coaching testimony."
Heat crawled up my neck. "I didn't coach anyone."
"It doesn't matter what you did. It matters how it looks." She shifted the folder under her arm. "The other mothers know. Rowan. Whitney. Brooke. They are all aware that you have been interfering. They are not happy, Dahlia. They are, in fact, united in their assessment that you have become a problem."
Fear hooked in my throat. "A problem."
"They're concerned. Concerned you are not acting rationally. Concerned that you are desperate." She paused. "And that makes you dangerous."
I felt the word like sharp little shivers under my skin. "Dangerous? I asked questions?—"
"You trespassed. You stole. You harassed their daughters. Whitney's considering a restraining order."
My vision blurred. I fought back tears of frustration. "I am trying to defend Mia. Since no one else appears to be!"
"You're not her lawyer. I am."
"I'm not trying to play lawyer," I said. "I'm trying to be a mother."
"And I am trying to be both." The words slipped out of her. Emotion flared in her face, a flash of something human. Apprehension. Worry. "Which is exactly why I am here."
"Zara heard something that night," I said. "At 3:30 a.m. She has information about the Instagram account."
Camille's face closed. "Leave Zara out of this."
"She's a witness. She could help."
"Zara is done talking."
"The red spray paint can was in your trash, Camille. Yours. That means Zara broke into my house, defaced Leah's painting, threatened Mia and me?—"
"Enough!" Camille's face contorted. "Just stop. Stop it. There will be no more conversations between you and my daughter, or Mia and my daughter. That's non-negotiable."
"You're protecting her from what? The truth?"
Her shoulders dropped a fraction. The mask didn't fall, it never would with her, but it shifted. She looked sad, defeated. "I am not your enemy, Dahlia. I am Zara's mother. I am also…" She stopped herself. "I am trying to help you."
Desperation tinged my voice. "It doesn't sound like help."
"It is." She lowered her voice enough that I had to lean closer. She held my gaze. "Take my advice. These women will protect their children at any cost. You need to understand what that means."
"They're afraid," I said. "They're hiding something."
"They're mothers," she said, as if that was an answer.
