At 1 a.m., my neighbor whispered, “Don’t open the door”—then my security app flashed no connection, the porch light refused to turn on, and five minutes of knuckles on my Pine Street door made my whole house shake in a quiet American neighborhood, until the silence hit and I leaned into the peephole to see who was smiling on the other side. My phone was still buzzing in my hand when Mrs. Miller’s voice broke through, sharp with panic.

I looked up, feigning surprise and joy. “Really, daughter? Oh, it would be wonderful. I need to clear my mind a little.”

At the agreed time, Jennifer took me by car. When the car slowly left the quiet alley, I took a quick look at the rear-view mirror. An orange garbage truck was parked at the end of the street earlier than usual. The cleaning worker next to the vehicle held a broom, but did not look at the ground. He looked up and stared straight toward our car. Then he nodded slightly with his head, a gesture almost imperceptible.

A shiver ran down my spine. It was the signal. The plan had begun.

At the fair, I transformed into the pickiest and most curious old lady in the place. I stopped at every stall—from ceramics, embroidery, to handmade silver jewelry. I took every object, examined it in detail. I asked about everything: about its origin, about how they had made it, although I did not care at all.

Jennifer started to get impatient, but she had no other option than to keep smiling and wait. After almost an hour, I insisted on sitting to rest at a small drink stand. I ordered a strawberry smoothie and drank it very slowly, sip by sip, as if it were the best elixir in the world. I knew every minute I kept Jennifer occupied was a valuable minute for Joseph’s team at home.

Almost two hours later, when Jennifer could no longer hide her nervousness, I accepted to return.

On the way back, I kept silent, heart beating a thousand an hour. Had they found anything? Did everything turn out well?

When we arrived, everything was as calm as when we left. There was no sign of breaking and entering. The dishes were still in the sink, the kitchen towel hanging on the edge. Joseph’s team had been too professional.

That night, after throwing the cup of tea in the fern pot again, I received a message from an unknown number: See you in the usual place.

I waited for Jennifer to go into her room. Then I put on my coat and went out, saying I needed to walk a little to stretch my legs. I took a long turn before deviating toward Rose’s house.

Joseph was already waiting for me in the living room. His face was tense, but in his eyes shone an expression of triumph impossible to hide.

“Did we find it?” I said as soon as I sat down, without any greeting.

He put on the table an object carefully wrapped in a police evidence bag. Through the plastic, I could see it was a small notebook with a dark brown leather cover and worn corners.

“It was very well hidden,” explained Joseph, “under a loose floorboard right under Jennifer’s bed, a place only someone who sleeps in that room could know.”