"What makes the gathering suspicious?"
Karen looked through the window again.
"I don't know exactly."
There was a pause.
"But there are a lot of people."
"Are you seeing anyone committing a crime?"
"No."
"Is anyone threatening you?"
"No."
"Are you hearing threats or violence?"
"No."
Karen hesitated.
"But it's unusual."
The operator asked another question.
"Can you describe what you're seeing?"
Karen did.
She described cars.
People.
Children.
Food.
Music.
Laughter.
The operator asked whether she had personally spoken to the homeowners.
Karen said no.
Whether she knew who they were.
No.
Whether she had seen weapons.
No.
Whether there was fighting.
No.
Whether anyone appeared injured.
No.
Still, Karen insisted something was wrong.
The operator eventually said officers would be sent to check on the situation.
Karen hung up.
She stared at her phone.
For the first time, uncertainty entered her mind.
Had she overreacted?
She pushed the thought away.
"I was just being careful," she told herself.
Across the street, Marcus had no idea what was happening.
He was arguing with Jordan about ketchup.
"You cannot put half the bottle on one burger."
"Why?"
"Because that's not a burger anymore. That's ketchup with a bun."
Jordan laughed.
Tasha handed Marcus another plate.
"Here."
"Thank you."
Then came the sound.
At first, it was distant.
A faint siren.
Marcus stopped.
He looked toward the street.
The sound grew louder.
Tasha turned around.
"What is that?"
"I don't know."
The siren approached.
Jordan stopped running.
Mia froze.
Then the first police cruiser turned onto Willow Creek Drive.
Red and blue lights flashed across the neighborhood.
Marcus's stomach dropped.
The second cruiser followed.
Then another.
The cheerful jazz music suddenly felt completely out of place.
A police vehicle stopped in front of the Johnson house.
An officer stepped out.
Marcus stared.
Tasha instinctively moved closer to the children.
"Stay with us," she whispered.
Jordan looked frightened.
"Dad?"
Marcus immediately crouched.
"Hey. It's okay."
"Did we do something wrong?"
The question hit Marcus harder than the sirens.
"No, son."
"But why are the police here?"
Marcus didn't have an answer.
He stood and walked toward the officers.
"Good afternoon, officers."
One officer nodded.
"Good afternoon, sir."
"Can I ask what's going on?"
"We received a call regarding suspicious activity at this residence."
Marcus stared at him.
"Suspicious activity?"
"Yes."
Marcus looked around.
There was a grill.
A picnic table.
Two children.
Three relatives.
A cooler.
A bowl of potato salad.
He almost laughed.
But there was nothing funny about the situation.
"This is my house," he said.
The officer nodded.
"Are you the homeowner?"
"Yes."
"Can we ask you a few questions?"
Marcus breathed slowly.
"Sure."
He answered everything.
Name.
Address.
Who was present.
Why they were gathered.
He explained that they were having a family barbecue.
The officer looked toward the yard.
"How many people are here?"
Marcus counted.
"Maybe eight or nine."
"Do you know everyone?"
"Yes."
"Any disputes?"
"No."
"Any weapons?"
"No."
"Any injuries?"
"No."
The questions continued.
Marcus remained polite.
But his patience began to thin.
Tasha watched from behind him.
She understood exactly what was happening.
The police were doing their job.
That was true.
But someone had called them based on something that had nothing to do with crime.
And now her children were watching officers question their parents as though they had done something wrong.
Tasha's eyes filled with tears.
She blinked them away.
She didn't want Jordan and Mia to see.
Marcus finally gestured toward the grill.
"You can see what we're doing."
The officer looked.