A three AM phone call about a locked room changed everything

you at home for dinner.”

I turned the station wagon around, the tires crunching over the gravel of the motel lot, leaving him standing by the yellow door with his stack of white towels.

I did not go straight home. I drove to Stacey’s house, parking on the curb under the dying oak trees. Her living room always smelled of expensive cinnamon candles, a continue reading …