By sunrise, the neighborhood was alive with speculation. Whispers moved quicker than the morning breeze. “It was those boys,” someone muttered at the market. “I saw them hanging around the empty place yesterday,” insisted another. Magnolia listened to the murmurs, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line.
That afternoon, two police cruisers rolled slowly down the street. Officers moved door to door, asking questions, notebooks poised. Magnolia’s turn came and went—she answered politely, offering only what she knew. Down the block, the boys shifted nervously, eyes darting, but maintained their practiced bravado while adults scrutinized every glance.