“What do you mean? Obviously my clothes,” she snapped. “Are you saying staying at my sister’s house is a crime?”
Her voice rose, trying to bulldoze through authority the way she bulldozed through family. It had worked on my parents. It had worked on friends. It had worked on me, once.
The officer didn’t flinch. “Please open the bag.”
Kristen’s hands began to shake. She forced a laugh that sounded brittle.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Open it,” the officer repeated, still calm.
Slowly, Kristen unzipped the bag.
Inside were branded accessories taken from my closet—items I remembered buying, items I remembered placing carefully on shelves. There were unopened high-end cosmetics, still in packaging.
Kristen lifted her chin, trying to salvage dignity. “Those were supposed to be gifts.”A lie thrown like a shield.
“Denise is single,” she added quickly, as if that explained everything. “She has more than she could ever use. Those bags would be happier if I used them.”
That sentence—those bags would be happier—made something inside my aunt snap.