Indelicato was waiting for me when I came home from work. She handed me what looked like an undersized white speaker. “What’s this? “A baby monitor. The batteries are new. Mrs. Geimer loaned it to me.” “Mrs. Geimer is eighty-six. Why does she have a baby monitor?” I said. “For when her great-grandson Brian visits,” she said. “I talked to Mrs. Geimer today. She will watch your backyard. I will watch the front. You need to put this in your room. Then I can hear if this crazy person breaks in and attacks you in the middle of the night. My bedroom is right under yours.” “You want me to use a baby monitor?” Mrs. I’s mouth hardened like a line in concrete. “Everyone uses them,” she said. “Mr. Heinrich keeps one in his garage. His garage has not been broken into since he installed it. Mrs. Geimer has a monitor in a planter on her front porch. She heard two boys—fourteen years old, mind you—stealing radios out of cars. She called the police and they caught them.
