My phone was suddenly a leaden weight in my pocket, its stillness further proof of Lena’s absence. I could check the news, see if anything additional had been published. Had the police found more bodies, had Brady confessed anything, did they have any idea what had happened to Lena? I could feel the eagerness inside, right alongside the sick fear that I’d see what I’d seen the last time I checked. The front of my own house.

Nothing I wanted to know had been released. If this were a television program, some investigative journalist or freelance detective would have bribed their way into the police station or found a jailhouse informant. Instead, the people on my front lawn were searching for answers I didn’t have.

And we paid to live in this stupid neighborhood with its manicured lawns and trash can curfews. If we could get fined for putting our recycling bins out too early, surely these vultures weren’t allowed either.

I couldn’t do a damn thing about the police, but the news crews would have to go. Furiously, I searched on my phone for the homeowners’ association number and called, only to get a voice mail. Should I identify myself? Would it make me look guilty to complain? Before I could chicken out, I blurted, “I’m on Evening Primrose and there are reporters everywhere, blocking the street and making noise. Do something about it.”

I hung up, my face hot. I hadn’t identified myself, but I’d taken action.

Grace squawked, waking to the realization that she was hungry, and I bent to scoop her up, my heart pounding against her. She’d just finished nursing when I heard voices on the street outside, then a knock on the door.

I peeked through the beveled glass at a figure on the front step and a police car in my driveway.

My mouth dry, Grace dozing in my arms, I opened the door to an officer in uniform, about ten years older than me. In a thick Louisiana accent, he asked, “Miz Tremaine?”

When I nodded mutely, he offered me a business card. “I’m the designated officer for this community.”

My arms tightened around Grace.

But then the officer removed his sunglasses. His eyes, under heavy black brows, were kind. “I understand you’ve been having some trouble with the news people. Now, I’m all for free speech, but the HOA has some regulations in place to keep the streets from being clogged up.”

“That was fast. I just called.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but something was rising in me. My call had made things better. First I’d get rid of the reporters, then I’d work on the bigger problems.