Page 41 of Rich Little Liars

At the back door, he tests the lock. ‘This is secure. You keep it locked at night?’

‘Always.’

‘Good. That’s good.’ He peers through the window into the darkness beyond. ‘I’ll go out and have a look. You stay inside, keep the door locked.’

I watch as he lets himself out and disappears into the yard. His flashlight beam sweeps across the patio, the grass, the borders. He’s very thorough. Looking for evidence of what I saw. Or evidence that I’m imagining things. When he returns, his expression hasn’t changed.

‘I’ve checked the whole perimeter,’ he says, stamping mud off his boots. ‘No signs of anyone having been there. No footprints, no disturbance. The gates are all secure. Nothing’s been tampered with.’

‘But I saw someone.’

‘I believe you saw something. Gardens can play tricks at night. Shadows, reflections in glass, trees moving in the wind. It’s easy to mistake one thing for another, especially when you’re not familiar with the space yet.’

The condescension is subtle but unmistakable: You’re new here. You don’t know what’s normal. You’re probably just jumpy.

‘I know what I saw.’

‘Of course. And it’s always better to be safe. You did the right thing by calling.’ He closes his notebook. ‘I’ll make a note of this in case anything else happens. But there’s no evidence of trespass or attempted break-in. Your house is secure.’

‘So that’s it?’

‘Unless there’s something else you’d like to add?’

The question hangs there. Open. Inviting. Like he knows there’s more to this story than shapes in the darkness. Like he can see straight through my lies to the mess underneath.

I should tell him about the notes, the ring, the way someone has been terrifying me for a short while. A proper officer would investigate. Would take it seriously. Maybe he would even figure out who’s doing this before they escalate further.

But telling him means explaining why those notes matter. Means revealing what I did, risking everything I’ve built here on the possibility that he might help instead of ruin me.

‘No,’ I hear myself say. ‘Nothing else.’

He watches me for a moment longer than necessary. Then nods. ‘Right then. I’ll file the report and increase patrols in the area. If you see anything else suspicious, call immediately. Don’t wait. And consider getting some security lighting installed. Motion sensors can be quite effective as deterrents.’

‘Thank you.’

He moves towards the front door and I follow, relieved this is ending. That I’ve managed to call for help without incriminating myself. That Officer Harvey will leave and I can go back to managing this alone.

But at the door, he pauses.

‘Ms Reynolds,’ he says, his tone shifting. ‘How did your husband pass?’

My pulse spikes. ‘There was a fire. At home.’

‘Hmm.’ He’s studying me now with more focus. ‘Thought you looked familiar. I remember seeing your face on the news.’

The room tilts. I grip the doorframe to steady myself.

‘Okay,’ I manage. ‘But that was private. A family matter.’

‘Of course. My apologies.’ But his expression says he’s still working through it. Still trying to put things together. ‘Terrible thing. Can’t imagine what you went through.’

‘It was difficult.’

‘I’m sure.’ He pulls a card from his pocket and hands it to me. ‘My direct number’s on there. Don’t hesitate to use it if you need anything. We look after our residents in East Hampton.’

The way he says ‘residents’ makes it sound conditional. Like I’m only barely qualified for the designation. Like he’s watching to see if I’ll prove myself worthy or reveal myself as the problem I actually am.

‘Thank you,’ I say again, taking the card.