A three AM phone call about a locked room changed everything

small yellow lamp lighting the space.

Stacey sat on a folding chair, twisting her silver hoop earrings as she stared at her printed statement.

“He called me four times this afternoon,” Stacey said, her voice shaking.

“Did you answer?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I let it go to voicemail, but he thinks I am still at my sister’s house in Toledo.”

“He does not continue reading …