Chapter 4 - The Woman at the Window
Lydia Crane agreed to speak only with an independent investigator.
I respected that boundary, even though every instinct urged me to drive straight to her office.
Instead, I sat with Mom as she described six weeks of odd changes at home.
The backdoor lock had been replaced while she was at church.
Her mail sometimes arrived already opened.
Arthur had taken the password book from the kitchen drawer, claiming he wanted to put everything online.
Brooke had moved a box of Dad's letters into the basement without asking.
Each detail had seemed small at the time.
Together they formed a pattern of control.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.
Mom watched the rain streak down the hospital window.
"Because every time I complained, Arthur said I was imagining things."
I swallowed my anger.
"I should have listened sooner."
"You listened the first time I called," she answered.
Her generosity made the betrayal hurt worse.
That afternoon, an independent county investigator named Rachel Dunn interviewed me as a witness.
I gave her the security clips and the original app export details, together with the photographs and the anonymous envelope.
I explained exactly when each item came into my possession.
Rachel did not ask me to interpret what the recordings meant.
She asked what I had seen and done.
I was grateful for the discipline.
An honest case could survive questions.
A case built out of righteous certainty often could not.
When I mentioned the blue-and-white blanket, Rachel made a note.
She had already requested the station's property logs.
"Did someone book the blanket into evidence?" I asked.
"I can't discuss that yet."
But her expression told me the question mattered.
At five that evening, June received an urgent call from Hartwell Closing Services.
The title officer had discovered that Cedar Glen Holdings was not the purchaser listed on the original offer.
Cedar Glen was an intermediary company registered four months earlier.
Its registered agent used a rented mailbox outside town.
June requested the beneficial ownership information through the proper legal process.
Meanwhile, Mom remembered something else.
A woman had appeared outside the house twice, always in a dark sedan.
Once she stood across the street and watched Mom through the kitchen window.
"Was she Brooke's friend?" I asked.
"I thought she might be."
Mom's face tightened.
"She came to the door the night the porch light went out."
"Did she say her name?"
"No. She said Arthur had asked her to check the alarm."
The video doorbell had captured that visit.
I passed the date to Rachel rather than searching through my own archive.
An hour later, June sent me a still image obtained with Mom's consent.
The stranger wore a raincoat and carried a narrow toolbox.
She was not an alarm technician.
She was Martin Keene's paralegal.
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And the toolbox was open just enough to show what looked like a portable document scanner.
