Maria’s hand flew to her chest. “Oh Lord. Come in, come in.”
Her living room was cozy and crowded with dark wood furniture that had survived decades. Under the TV sat the DVR box with tiny lights blinking like it was alive. Maria fiddled with remotes until Pernell gently took over, rewinding with practiced confidence.
I stood close enough to see the grainy black-and-white street. Snow streaked past the lens. My house sat across the road, our gate visible.
“You said your husband left around seven?” Pernell asked without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Yes.”
He rewound to eight. Then nine. Then ten. The street stayed empty, the storm making the world look abandoned.
At 11:44 p.m., a dark sedan appeared, moving slow, deliberate. It stopped directly across from my house.
A tall man got out, bundled in a bulky dark jacket, knit cap low. The image wasn’t good enough for a face, but his posture was calm—no hesitation, no hurry. He looked around once like he was checking for witnesses, then opened my gate and disappeared into my yard.
My knees went weak. I gripped the back of Maria’s chair to stay upright.
Ten or twelve minutes later he reappeared, closed the gate neatly behind him, got back into the sedan, and drove off at the same unhurried pace.
“Pause,” Pernell said sharply, stopping the frame when the car was most visible. “Plate’s hard to read in this weather, but we might pull a few numbers. And look—on the door.”
There was a light-colored logo on the side of the sedan. Lettering, maybe.
Maria leaned forward, squinting. “That looks like a company car.”
Pernell’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. Not just some random guy wandering.”
Maria swallowed. “It reminds me of a real estate company,” she blurted, then looked embarrassed. “Oh—Elaine, I’m sorry, that probably sounds crazy.”
My head snapped toward her. “Why would a real estate company be at my house at midnight?”
Maria wrung her hands. “Because last month an appraiser came to me late evening—my grandson set up the appointment for my daughter’s apartment in the city. Same idea, company car, big logo. He said he was booked all day.”
Pernell zoomed the frame as much as the fuzzy quality allowed. The first word of the logo looked like it could be “Hearth…” Something.
He wrote it down. “We’re going to check local real estate agencies,” he said. “If that’s an appraiser, we’ll find who ordered him.”
I stared at the paused image. A “for sale” kind of car. At my gate. At night.
The insane thought arrived whole, like it had been waiting behind my ribs.
Who would order an appraisal of my house?
The deed was in my name. The house was mine.
Unless…
