A three AM phone call about a locked room changed everything

hood of his sedan and walked over to my window, his silver watch catching the low autumn sun as he rotated the band around his wrist.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing out here?” he asked, leaning his forearms against the glass frame of my open window.

“Mia saw your car,” I said, keeping both hands tightly on the steering wheel. “You told me you were in continue reading …