Page 73 of Lemon Pound Cake Club

I wasn’t sure what she was looking at. Maybe it was me, or maybe something else.

I put the ribbon in my pocket and walked home. Some things are better left alone.

The police stayed until late afternoon.

A security company truck sat in her driveway while two men measured the windows and checked the motion sensors.

The neighborhood group chat kept going off.

Danielle: Does anyone know a good home security company?

Simone: I'm ordering cameras tonight.

Nia: I don't care if my husband thinks I'm overreacting. Every door in this house is getting a new lock.

The messages kept coming. Fear seemed to spread even faster than gossip.

I locked my phone and went upstairs.

Morning sunlight moved across the hardwood floor toward my desk. I opened the bottom drawer and took out the worn leather journal.

I flipped to a random page. The handwriting was instantly familiar.

Today he introduced me to one of his coworkers.

She was beautiful. She smiled too much.

I can't explain why, but I left that conversation feeling like I'd met someone who would eventually change my life.

I traced the faded ink with my thumb, read the words again, and closed the diary.

I carried the diary to the window and looked across the street. Workers were on ladders, installing cameras under Camille's roof.

Motion lights turned on in the middle of the afternoon while they tested the new system.

Some neighborhoods rely on trust. It takes just one morning to show how fragile that trust can be.

Chapter Eleven

Maci

Thursdays began to feel different. The change wasn’t because of the Lemon Pound Cake Club, but because of what happened after our last meeting.

Nearly every house on the street had a new security camera above the garage or by the front door. In only four days, fear changed the neighborhood more than years of peace ever had.

It made everyone feel like danger was nearby.

I parked in my garage and rushed inside to get the lemon pound cake I’d baked earlier. Pleased with how it turned out, I walked across the street to Camille’s. The moment I stepped onto her porch, the front door opened.

"Thanks to these new cameras, I knew you were coming."

Camille smiled, but her eyes stayed serious. From a distance, she looked just like the woman I’d met weeks ago. Up close, no makeup could hide how tired she looked. The skin under her eyes was darker now. When she hugged me, I noticed the smell of bourbon.

"Come on in," she said, stepping aside.

"The girls are already here."

The dining room looked as beautiful as always, with fresh flowers in the middle of the table.