The Story Continues After Part 1

My stomach tightened. “Who’s asking?” He glanced back at the SUV and lowered his voice. “My name is Spencer. Ma’am, I need you to see something right now. We’ve been looking for you for years.”

PART 2

I did not remove the chain.

The man on my porch was perhaps forty, with tired eyes and a tie tied too tightly around his neck.

Behind him, the black SUV idled near my mailbox.

Our street was quiet on Saturday mornings, and the sound of its engine seemed unusually loud.

“Who is we?” I asked.

“My employer. A woman named Evelyn Mercer.”

The name stirred nothing.

I tightened my grip on the door.

“You have the wrong address.”

“I don’t think so.

Is your name Helen Whitaker?”