A three AM phone call about a locked room changed everything

her mug.

Stacey stared at the blue ink on the page, where her own name was listed beside a date from three years ago.

“I rented a small storage locker on Route Four behind the lumber yard,” she said.

“I just need to get the car packed.”

“What about the furniture?” I asked.

“I don’t care about the furniture,” she said, looking up with a continue reading …