EMILY DROVE, FOLLOWING Frank through town and back to the house. The more she thought about the evidence the police had gathered—surveillance pictures that showed someone driving a car like hers and delivering something to the storage unit in the dead of night, carpet fibers in her car—the angrier she got. The person in the grainy CCTV footage was barely visible, and the car might have been hers, or it might have been any light-colored compact car with their logo painted on the door. But the person, indistinct as she was, did seem to be wearing an outfit like Emily’s work uniform and she had a long ponytail. On any other night, the shoes would have been right.

Emily shivered. This was not a case of mistaken identity. Whoever it was had been trying to look like Emily. The person had also been fully aware of the location of the surveillance camera. What Emily couldn’t understand was why the barista, who’d been so kind to her at the coffee shop, refused to confirm that she’d even been in there. That, at least, she could discover for herself later, after the police had finished executing their search warrant.

Emily turned onto her block. She gripped the steering wheel even tighter when she saw that a police van was backed into their driveway and a cruiser was parked in front. The bulkhead doors to the basement were open, as was the front door. One of their neighbors—a retired postal worker who’d been living across the street for decades before they moved in—stood behind his screen door, looking out. Emily parked in front of his house and got out, giving him an awkward wave.

Lila, wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat and sunglasses, a gold tunic and white leggings, sat in a folding chair on the front lawn watching the house like she was watching a movie. When she saw Emily, she jumped up and waved some sheets of paper at her. Emily reached out for them. Across the top page, it read: SEARCH WARRANT.

Frank, who’d parked his car farther down the street, joined them.

“I’m sorry,” Lila said, addressing her apology to Frank. “I didn’t know how to stop them.”

“You couldn’t have stopped them,” Frank said. “And if you’d tried, you’d have gotten yourself arrested.”

“Why are they here?” Lila asked. “They can’t possibly think that Emily had anything to do with that man who—” She broke off as a police officer emerged from the front door, wearing bright blue rubber gloves and carrying what looked like a pile of clothing. He laid the items down on a plastic tarp behind the police van. Emily could see several of her work uniforms, including her sneakers and cap.