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“We like to things kept tidy around here.”

The neighborhood looked trimmed and polite, like a brochure. Still, curtains shifted when I carried things inside, and the air felt watched. Her wind chimes hung under the porch roof, perfectly still.

Mrs. Keller lived across the street in a beige house with flawless flower beds. Grandma used to call her “the mayor” when she thought nobody could hear. That morning Keller stood in her doorway with a stern look on her face.

“You must be the grandson,” she called, voice tight. “We like things kept tidy around here.”