Chapter 17: Whose House

I knocked on my own front door.

"Neil," I said. "Open it."

"Go home, Maggie," he called from inside.

"I am home."

"Go to your boyfriend's. You've got a paramedic now."

Ian stood beside me on the porch with his hands at his sides.

"Want me to break it?" he asked.

"No. That's what he wants."

I took out my phone and dialed the non-emergency number.

The dispatcher took my name and address, and then she asked who was locked out.

"I am," I said. "The owner. My husband is inside and won't open the door."

Two officers came in ten minutes, and by then the neighbors had come out onto their lawns.

I saw the woman across the street in her bathrobe.

I saw Kristen's porch light go on, and then go off again.

The older officer was gray at the temples and very tired.

He listened to me, and then he knocked.

"Mr. Dolan? Police. Open up, please."

The deadbolt turned.

Neil stood in the doorway with his shirt untucked and his face blotched red.

"This is a private matter," he said. "My wife and I are having an argument."

"Is this your wife?" the officer asked.

"Yes."

"Is she an owner of this property?"

"She..." He stopped. "It's complicated."

"It isn't," I said.

I held out my phone.

I had photographed the closing statement the week I found the album, and I had photographed the bank wire from my mother's estate.

"Here's the deed. Both our names. Here's the down payment, paid by my late mother's life insurance. Here's the mortgage in both our names."

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