We all turned.
Standing in the doorway was Noah. He looked smaller than usual, dwarfed by the tension in the room. He was wearing his faded superhero t-shirt, and in his hands, he clutched that yellow plastic dump truck—the cheap toy that looked so out of place amidst the crystal and mahogany.
The officer holding my arm paused. “Hey there, son. You need to go find your mom. We’re busy.”
Noah didn’t move. He walked forward, his sneakers squeaking faintly on the floor. He didn’t look at the shouting adults; he looked at the police officer with a confusing mix of fear and genuine curiosity. He walked right up to the officer, reached out, and tugged on the man’s navy blue pants.
“Mr. Policeman,” Noah asked, his voice ringing clear in the dead silence, innocent and piercing. “Why did Grandma put the shiny necklace inside my toy truck this morning and tell me to hide it in the lady’s bag?”
