This paranoia seeps into your every thought. Every door slam you hear at the curb you think is an angry parent coming for you—or worse, the police. Every phone call you worry is someone who’s turned over another rock. You wonder if North is starting to notice how jumpy you’ve become. You wonder, even, if North knows what you’ve done—but no. That’s impossible. You keep telling yourself that only Flora knows, and perhaps these three new women don’t know a thing, but you curse that you’ve let them slip through the cracks. Now they’re in your community, and it’s not so easy to kick them out. You have to be careful.

“But we can turn up the heat, if we need to,” Carson adds, after you’ve been silent for too long. “I . . . found some more things.”

“What things?”

“On them. Well—two of them, anyway. Veronica and Andrea. Stuff they probably don’t want broadcast, if they can help it.” He sighs. “It’s amazing, what people hide.”

“That’s good,” you say. “There’s also an email I got from Lauren. About her anger.” You feel better now. This will all go away. Carson has it under control.

“Are you still noticing strange things about your house?” Carson asks then.

You swallow. “Sort of.”

It’s only little things. You swear you locked the back shed before leaving, but when you get home, it’s open. At night, you’ll bolt awake, certain someone is standing in your yard, though when you peek out the windows, no one is there.

“Can’t you turn on your alarm?” Carson asks.

You pause. Your home’s previous owners installed a system, and a sign for said system remained on a stake in the lawn to deter potential burglars, but you never actually had it reactivated. It was a corner you’d cut, a nonnecessity you thought you could forgo so you could afford the place’s mortgage. You never thought it would matter. Wasn’t Raisin Beach supposed to be ridiculously safe?

For most people, maybe. But perhaps not for you.

“And what about North? Has he noticed anything?”

“I already asked him. I’ll ask again.”

You notice another call coming in, then. “I need to go,” you tell Carson. You try to put your imaginary stalker out of your mind. No one has snuck into your house. You left a window open yourself. You left a book in a spot you didn’t remember. “I’ll see you in the office. I’m about to get into the car.”

You click over to the other line as you grab your bag and head out the door. “Piper?” says a crisp woman’s voice. “Please hold for Jean Gillout.”

You break into a grin. The Hulu guy. The documentary. You cannot wait to get started.