Chapter Ten
Maci
Sunday mornings were my time. Before anyone in Lemon Grove Estates woke up and hurried off to church, I enjoyed an hour of quiet on my front porch.
My coffee sat on the table next to me, steam rising into the cool morning air. The neighborhood was still quiet.
A mockingbird sat in my lemon tree, singing a tune that seemed to be just for itself.
I held my mug with both hands and watched the sun rise. Everything felt calm.
Suddenly, a scream broke the silence. It wasn’t just a quick yelp from a spider or something dropping. This scream was raw and frightening.
The mockingbird flew away. My coffee spilled over the edge of my mug.
Across the street, Camille stepped off her porch, her hand shaking as she covered her mouth.
"Oh, God," her voice shook. "Oh... my God..."
All around the cul-de-sac, front doors opened.
"What happened?"
"Camille!"
"Is she okay?"
Neighbors hurried into the street wearing slippers, pajamas, and robes. I stayed where I was, watching and trying to understand why Camille looked so pale.
I looked where everyone else was looking. Hanging from the brass doorknocker was a bundle of dead lemon branches tied with a wide black satin ribbon.
The branches were brittle, and their leaves were curled, like they had died long before they ended up on her porch. A folded cream-colored card was tucked between them.
No one touched it. No one moved. Camille stood frozen, as if even breathing too hard could make things worse.
I kept holding my coffee and didn’t cross the street until Danielle got to her.
"Oh, my God."
I stopped beside them.
"Camille, are you okay?"
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Danielle put her arm around Camille’s shoulders as Simone carefully stepped onto the porch.
"Don't touch anything," she warned.
"I'm calling the police.”
A few minutes later, blue lights flashed and broke the quiet of Sunday morning. Two patrol cars pulled up to Lemon Grove Estates.
One officer took photos of the dead branches from different angles. Another officer, wearing gloves, carefully picked up the card.
The women gathered close together by the sidewalk. Everyone spoke in whispers. The officer opened the note and read it, then looked at it again as his face changed.
"What does it say?" Nia asked.
The officer looked toward Camille.
"Mrs. Hayes."
He spoke more gently.
"Does this message mean anything to you?"
Camille swallowed.
"No."
"You've never seen anything like this before?"
She shook her head.
"No."
He looked at the note again and read it out loud, his voice low.
SHE SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE ONE LIVING HERE.
Nobody spoke. Danielle frowned.
"Who?"
Simone looked at Camille.
"Do you know who they're talking about?"
Camille looked down at the ground.
"I..."
She stopped and shook her head slightly.
"No."
I watched her carefully. She was breathing fast, and her hands trembled. The officer kept asking questions.
"Has anyone threatened you recently?"
"No."
"Any problems with family?"
"No."
"Old friends?"
She hesitated for a moment.
"No."
I noticed her hesitation, and so did Miss Evelyn. Miss Evelyn stood quietly in the shade of her porch, silent, her eyes fixed on Camille.
The officer slipped the note into an evidence bag.
"It appears someone is trying to scare you."
Camille exhaled, her breath unsteady.
"It's working."
No one knew what to say. The neighbors split into small groups, quietly talking as rumors began to spread.
"What if it's just kids?"
"No kid writes something like that."
"I wonder who 'she' is."
People kept asking questions, but no one had any answers.
The officers continued gathering evidence while the women drifted back to the sidewalk. No one seemed ready to go home yet.
Leaving felt like admitting that someone had brought fear to Lemon Grove Estates on purpose.
I gently squeezed Camille's shoulder.
"If you need anything... call me."
She looked up at me.
She seemed grateful, but there was something else in her eyes.
"Maci?"
"Yeah?"
She paused, looking like she might change her mind. Then she gave a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
"Have we ever met before?"
Her question surprised me for a second, but I smiled back at her.
"I don't think so."
"You just seem..." She studied my face. "Familiar."
I gave a quiet laugh.
"I'm pretty sure I'd remember meeting someone like you."
Camille smiled back for the first time that morning.
"I guess you're right."
"I hope the police figure this out."
"So do I."
I squeezed her hand again to reassure her, then turned toward my house.
As I crossed the street, something brushed my sleeve. I looked down and saw a thin black satin ribbon stuck to my robe, moving in the morning breeze.
I picked it up without thinking and looked back at Camille. She was still on her porch, watching me.
I wasn’t sure what she was looking at. Maybe it was me, or maybe something else.
I put the ribbon in my pocket and walked home. Some things are better left alone.
The police stayed until late afternoon.
A security company truck sat in her driveway while two men measured the windows and checked the motion sensors.
The neighborhood group chat kept going off.
Danielle: Does anyone know a good home security company?
Simone: I'm ordering cameras tonight.
Nia: I don't care if my husband thinks I'm overreacting. Every door in this house is getting a new lock.
The messages kept coming. Fear seemed to spread even faster than gossip.
I locked my phone and went upstairs.
Morning sunlight moved across the hardwood floor toward my desk. I opened the bottom drawer and took out the worn leather journal.
I flipped to a random page. The handwriting was instantly familiar.
Today he introduced me to one of his coworkers.
She was beautiful. She smiled too much.
I can't explain why, but I left that conversation feeling like I'd met someone who would eventually change my life.
I traced the faded ink with my thumb, read the words again, and closed the diary.
I carried the diary to the window and looked across the street. Workers were on ladders, installing cameras under Camille's roof.
Motion lights turned on in the middle of the afternoon while they tested the new system.
Some neighborhoods rely on trust. It takes just one morning to show how fragile that trust can be.