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get her butt in gear and sees Cameron standing on the front porch, staring directly into the security camera.

11.
     
    “WE’RE SCREWED,” CAMERON says.
    Willow rushes back to Cameron’s side.
    “No problem,” she says.
    “No problem? Are you shitting me?”
    She points to the camera.
    Willow says, “We’ll go inside, find the surveillance tape, and pull it out of the machine.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Why not?”
    “I just locked the front door.”
    “We could break in the back,” Willow says. “It won’t be that hard. There’s a sliding glass door and—”
    The suddenness of Willow’s pause makes Cameron turn to look at her. Willow’s staring at the camera, smiling.
    “We’re screwed, and you’re standing here making a fucking movie?”
    “It’s a fake camera,” Willow says.
    “Are you crazy ? ”
    “Bobby used to sell and install security systems, remember?”
    “So?”
    “Half the cameras he installed were fakes.”
    “That doesn’t make sense.”
    “Most customers were too cheap to spring for the full system. And nine out of ten burglars don’t know the difference between real and fake cameras.”
    “Is that true?”
    “Probably not. But it’s what Bobby told the clients.”
    “So when he couldn’t sell the real thing he talked them into buying the fakes?”
    “Exactly. For ten cents on the dollar.”
    “And you’re certain this one’s a fake?”
    “Positive. We’ve got a dozen just like them in our apartment.”
    “Seriously Willow? Because if you’re wrong it’s our asses.”
    “Seriously. Now let’s get out of here!”
    They walk briskly to the car, climb in, and start driving to Willow’s apartment.
    “What about the bedding?” Cameron says.
    “We should take it to a laundromat and wash and dry it. Then take it to my place, cut everything into small pieces with scissors, and scatter the pieces in dumpsters all over town.”
    “I’ve got a better idea. We’ll wash and dry it and put it in your trunk. After work, we’ll take it to my parent’s house. They’ve got a fire pit. We’ll burn it while making smores.”
    “What about the vacuum cleaner?”
    “Pull over, and we’ll dump out the dust. I need a sweeper anyway. I’ll take it home and wash it from top to bottom, hose and everything.”
    “I like the idea of cleaning it,” Willow says. “But keeping it? What if the police show up?”
    “Good point. Okay, I’ll wash it out this afternoon. You’ll pick me up and drive me to work and we’ll put the sweeper in your trunk. After work we’ll toss it in a dumpster on our way to my parents’ house.”
    An hour later they fold the warm sheets, pillow cases and blanket, and place everything back in the trash bag and put it in Willow’s trunk. They ride quietly back to Cameron’s duplex.
    Still in the car with the doors locked, Cameron says, “We’ll never speak of this again, no matter what. If something happens and the police put us in separate interrogation rooms, we won’t flip on each other.”
    “They always lie and say the other person ratted you out.”
    “But we won’t flip on each other.”
    “No.”
    “Swear it.”
    “I swear. Now you.”
    “I swear.”
    They sit in the car a minute, thinking about what they’ve done.
    Then Willow says, “Chris Fowler.”
    “What about him?”
    “He’ll know we did it.”
    “He won’t have any reason to suspect us,” Cameron says.
    “He will. Last night was a big deal. He’ll come home, find his wife murdered, see the safe open. He’ll wonder who would do such a thing.”
    “Us?”
    Willow nods.
    “So?”
    “He knows where we work.”
    Cameron thinks a minute, then says, “He won’t want to admit what happened last night.”
    “He’ll have to. He’s the prime suspect.”
    “Not if he’s got a great alibi. He’s at work, right? Wherever that is, there must be a dozen people who can vouch for his whereabouts.”
    “If they can establish a proper timeline.”
    “They