Jordan carried the box of LED lights and portable speaker.
Julian wrestled the inflatable Santa outside backward, bumped into the doorframe, and nearly fell over laughing.
They wore matching red-and-green Rudolph sweaters their aunt had mailed from Chicago.
Jordan set the speaker beside the porch.
"Jingle Bells" began.
Julian sang badly on purpose.
Two houses away, Patricia Brennan watched through her living-room window.
At first she simply noticed movement.
Then she saw the boys.
She stood still behind a curtain, watching Jordan kneel near the shrubs while Julian carried decorations from the porch into the yard. She did not see anyone running away with property. She did not see a bag, vehicle, broken window, forced door, or any other sign of theft.
She saw two children arranging Christmas decorations.
She also saw them come from the Davis front door.
That mattered later.
At 2:51, Julian tried to inflate Santa using the outdoor outlet and discovered the cord did not reach.
At 2:56, Jordan carried another box from inside the house.
At 3:02, both boys went inside for hot chocolate.
At 3:08, they came back out.
Patricia remained at the window.
At 3:12, she took out her phone.
At 3:15 and eighteen seconds, she dialed 911.
"Riverside County emergency services. What is the location of your emergency?"
Patricia gave the address of Tanya Davis's house.
"What's happening there?"
"There are two Black juveniles taking Christmas decorations from the property."
The dispatcher asked whether the boys were placing items into a vehicle.
"No. They're going through everything in the yard. They've been there a long time. I think they're scouting the residence."
"Did you see them enter the residence?"
Patricia hesitated.
"I've seen them near the door."
"Do you know who lives at that address?"
"Of course I do. I am the HOA president."
"Are you certain the juveniles aren't residents or guests?"
"Absolutely. I know the families on this street. Those boys don't belong there."
The dispatcher entered a suspicious-activity call, priority two.
Patricia added, "We've had problems with break-ins."
There had been no residential burglary in Riverside Oaks for more than a year.
The dispatcher did not know that.
A patrol unit less than two miles away accepted the call.
Officer Brandon Hayes.
Nine years on the force.
Thirty-four years old.
He had no idea that the next ten minutes would reopen almost every serious complaint in his personnel history.
Patricia ended the call, waited less than a minute, then decided waiting from the window was not enough.
She walked outside.
Across her lawn.
Down the sidewalk.
Jordan saw her approaching and lowered the strand of lights.
He had been taught to greet adults.
"Hi, Mrs. Brennan."
Patricia did not return the greeting.
"Put those down."
Jordan blinked.
"What?"
"The lights. Put them down right now."
"They're ours."
Patricia stepped onto Tanya's lawn.