A three AM phone call about a locked room changed everything

the afternoon mail,” Stacey said.

She twisted her left silver hoop earring, her fingers moving in that rapid, repetitive circle I had seen a hundred times. Her face was pale, but her eyes were steady as she looked up at me.

“Is that the final decree?” I asked.

“It says certified copy at the top,” Stacey said, her thumb tracing the blue embossed seal of continue reading …