A three AM phone call about a locked room changed everything

front door opened at six o’clock. Alan stepped onto the green linoleum of the entryway, his shoulders hunched against the October chill. He smelled faintly of woodsmoke, a dry, sharp scent that did not belong to his office or the highway.

“Let me take that,” I said, reaching for his heavy brown wool coat.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Alan said, his hand automatically continue reading …