Chapter 11: The Warrant

The older detective was a woman in a rumpled raincoat who had clearly been awake since yesterday.

The younger one carried the warrant.

"Claire Winslow?" she said. "We have a signed order to search these premises for stolen trade secrets belonging to Langley Skin."

"Come in," I said. "Everyone please wipe your feet. My landlord is strict."

Nathaniel stood by the window with his arms folded.

"Who are you?" the younger detective asked him.

"Her employer," he said. "And a witness."

They searched for an hour.

They opened the closet and the shoebox, and they went through the freezer and the stack of cookbooks.

They turned out my bed.

They found a brass scale, a framed photograph of a rose garden, and a laptop I handed over without being asked.

They did not find notebooks.

The older detective stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips.

"Where are they?" she asked me. "Ms. Winslow, I'll tell you plainly. Mr. Langley swore under oath that you took four original notebooks."

"Mr. Langley's guard took four notebooks out of my box," I said. "They confiscated them in front of three witnesses. They are in his office."

Her eyebrows went up.

"Say that again."

"The notebooks belonged to my grandmother. A month ago, Trevor Langley's security staff took them from me and kept them."

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