My phone buzzed again. Another call from Michael.
I looked at Harold’s photograph on the wall. He seemed to be smiling at me with that knowing look he used to get when I finally stood up for myself about something.
“I didn’t wait this long,” I said softly to his picture. “I already know how it ends.”
I silenced my phone, set it face down on the coffee table, and picked up my book. Whatever happened next, they’d have to figure out themselves.
The knock came two days later, Friday afternoon.
I’d been expecting it, honestly—not the exact timing, but the fact of it. I knew Michael and Amanda wouldn’t let this go without pushing further, without trying every angle they could think of.
I was in the kitchen making lunch, a simple grilled cheese sandwich, when I heard the firm knocking on my door: three knocks, evenly spaced, official-sounding.
I turned off the stove, wiped my hands on a towel, and walked calmly to the door. Through the peephole, I could see two police officers standing in the hallway. One was young, maybe late twenties, with dark hair and an earnest expression. The other was older, probably close to retirement age, with gray at his temples and the kind of face that had seen everything.
I opened the door and smiled pleasantly.
“Good afternoon, officers. How can I help you?”
The younger one spoke first, pulling out a small notepad. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Are you Mrs. Margaret Patterson?”
“I am.”
“Ma’am, we’re here regarding a report filed by your son, Michael Wright. He claims there’s been a theft at his residence, and he suggested you might have information about it.”
“Oh, I see.” I nodded. “Well, please come in. Can I offer you some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”
They exchanged a glance. The older officer smiled slightly. “That would be nice. Thank you.”
I led them into my living room, gesturing for them to sit on my sofa while I went to pour coffee. My hands were perfectly steady as I prepared two cups, adding cream and sugar to a small tray along with some of the cookies Ruth had brought over yesterday.
When I returned, they were looking around my apartment, taking in the furniture, the television on the wall, the general coziness of the space.
I set the tray on the coffee table and settled into my armchair across from them.
“Please, help yourselves.”
The younger officer accepted a cup gratefully. “Thank you, ma’am. This is very kind.”
“Not at all. Now, you mentioned my son filed a report.”
The older officer set down his coffee and leaned forward slightly. “Yes, ma’am. He and his wife returned from a trip to find their home had been cleared out. Furniture, appliances, electronics. They seem to believe you might know something about what happened.”
I nodded slowly, as if considering this. “I see. Well, officers, I can certainly help clear this up. Would you like to see my receipts?”
The younger one blinked. “Your receipts?”
“Yes, dear. For all the items in question.”
I stood and walked to my desk, retrieving the blue folder I’d kept so carefully organized. I returned and handed it to the older officer.
“Everything’s in there. Every purchase, every payment—you’ll see my name on each one.”
He opened the folder and began flipping through the pages. His partner leaned over to look as well, their expressions shifting from curious to understanding.
The older officer read aloud from one of the receipts. “Sixty-five-inch television purchased December 2023… Margaret Patterson.”
He looked up at me. “You bought this?”
“I did. A Christmas gift for my son. I have the matching account records if you need them.”
He continued reading. “Sofa set… three thousand. Refrigerator… twenty-eight hundred. Washer and dryer set…”
He was quiet for a moment, then looked at me with something like respect in his eyes.
“Ma’am, this is quite a lot of purchases.”
“I’m aware. I was helping my family—or at least I thought I was.”
The younger officer was still looking through the receipts, his brow furrowed. “But these are all at the address where the theft was reported.”
“That’s correct. I lived there for three years. I purchased those items while living there, with my own money, and I have proof of every transaction.”
I paused, taking a sip of my coffee. “When I decided to move out, I took what belonged to me.”
The older officer closed the folder carefully and set it on his lap. “Ma’am, if you don’t mind me asking, why the sudden move?”
I looked at him directly, my voice calm and clear. “I woke up on Thanksgiving morning to an empty house. My son, his wife, and their children had flown to Hawaii without telling me. They left a note saying I wouldn’t have enjoyed the flight.”
I smiled softly. “It made me realize some things about my situation. So I decided to make a change.”
The younger officer’s expression softened. “They left you alone on Thanksgiving.”
“They did.”
There was a moment of silence. The older officer picked up his coffee and took a long drink, then set it down with a sigh.
“Mrs. Patterson,” he said gently, “I don’t see any crime here. Everything in this folder shows you purchased these items. You have every right to take your own property.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “But I wanted to be sure. I didn’t want any misunderstandings.”
The younger one was still processing. “But your son thinks his house was robbed.”
“I imagine he does. But I didn’t rob anyone. I simply removed my belongings from a home I was no longer living in.”
I gestured around my apartment. “As you can see, everything’s here in my new place—where it belongs.”
The older officer stood, and his partner followed suit. “Well, ma’am, I think we have everything we need. Your documentation is thorough.”
He handed the folder back to me.
“I appreciate the coffee and your time.”
“Of course. I’m sorry you had to make the trip for something that turned out to be a family matter rather than a criminal one.”
“It happens more often than you’d think.” He pulled out a business card and set it on the coffee table. “If you have any trouble—any harassment from your family about this—you call me directly.”
“All right. Thank you, officer. That’s very kind.”
I walked them to the door.
As they stepped into the hallway, I could hear voices coming from the elevator area—raised voices, growing louder.
Michael and Amanda.
They must have followed the police here.
The elevator doors opened and they rushed out, spotting the officers immediately.
