“Then you drove away.”

The woman on her left, a neighbor named Beatrice Miller, shifted her purse strap and looked from one of us to the other.

The second woman backed away a couple of inches toward the security desk.

Teresa smoothed her lavender skirt with both hands.

“Lily was having a severe emotional meltdown because I wouldn’t give her a second popsicle before lunch.”

“She’s two years old,” I said.