“I saw the lights,” Henderson said, coughing into his hand. “Is everything all right in there, Clara?”

Harris froze, his hand still resting on the butt of his service weapon.

He shook his head at me, his eyes wide with a silent, desperate warning.

“Tell him we’re fine,” Harris whispered.

“Clara?” Henderson called again, taking a step onto the threshold.

The wet soles of his sneakers left gray prints on my clean doormat.

“Tell him to leave, Clara,” Julian whispered, his face twisting.

“Mr. Henderson,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “I’m okay.”

“I heard sirens,” the old man said, squinting through the gap in the door. “And your front gate was wide open.”

“It’s just a false alarm,” I said. “The security system malfunctioned.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to look past the kitchen island. “Who’s that with you?”

Harris took a slow step into the shadow of the pantry door, pulling Julian with him.

“It’s Detective Harris,” I said, keeping my hands on the counter. “He’s just checking the perimeter.”

Henderson hesitated, his hand resting on the brass doorknob.