A Steal in Broad Daylight

John’s phone buzzed against the kitchen counter while he was rinsing a mug.

He wiped his hands on a dish towel and looked down at the screen.

Package delivered. Front porch.

His thumb was already moving before he’d finished reading. The doorbell camera app opened with a little spin, then a still frame of his front walk came up. Brown box on the mat. Empty street. No car in sight.

He hit play.

A few seconds later, Sophia Wilson came into frame in a pink blazer, sunglasses on, hair pinned back like she’d stepped out of a brochure. She didn’t glance at his doorbell. She knew where the camera was anyway. She walked up like she owned the place, bent at the waist, and picked up the box with both hands.

Not hurried. Not sneaky. Like she was collecting her own mail.

John watched her turn, walk back down his steps, and go out of frame with his package under her arm.

He stared at the screen until the clip ended. Then he played it again.

Once.

Twice.

By the fourth time, his jaw had locked. By the eighth, he’d stopped moving altogether.