Then I remembered the video.
Whitney hadn’t entered my yard only once.
I’d watched the cutting sequence because that was what mattered to me.
I hadn’t checked the hours before it.
I went inside. Whitney followed me to the door.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking how much the camera caught.”
That stopped her.
I rewound the recording.
At 10:43 Tuesday night, Whitney appeared beside the fence.
No hedge shears.
She had a flashlight and a small shovel.
I watched her kneel exactly where the marker should have been.
She dug, then she pulled something from the ground.
A short metal pin.
My stomach dropped.
Whitney looked through the open doorway and saw the screen.
Her face drained.
Paul was behind her.
“What is that?” he asked.
I turned the laptop toward him.
Whitney stepped forward. “That’s not what it looks like.”
Nobody said anything. On screen, Whitney carried the pin back toward her house.
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