They read it carefully, exchanging glances that only heightened my anxiety.

“Do you know this neighbor well?” one of them asked.

“Not really,” I admitted. “She keeps to herself. We’ve barely spoken since I moved in.”

The officers nodded, and one of them asked me to wait while they went to Ruth’s house. I watched as they knocked on her door, but there was no answer. After several minutes, they returned, their faces grim.

“Ma’am, we’re going to investigate this further by running a sting operation to see who comes to collect Ruth’s response,” the other officer said. “In the meantime, we’d like you to stay inside your house. We’ll keep you updated.”

I agreed, though the thought of sitting alone in my house, just yards away from Ruth’s, filled me with unease. The police set up an ambush, deciding to monitor my neighbor’s mailbox overnight. That night, I couldn’t sleep.

Every creak and rustle outside my window made me jump. I kept imagining all sorts of scenarios, and none of them were good. Finally, around midnight, I heard a commotion outside. I peered out my window and saw the police moving swiftly, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.

They had caught someone.

I rushed outside in time to see the officers handcuffing a young man who looked disheveled and wild-eyed! He couldn’t have been more than 25! As they led him to the squad car, I overheard one of the officers questioning him.

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