My father had never mentioned a woman named Adelaide. He always told us his parents had died young and that there was no other family left.

I studied the woman’s face in the photo. She had very kind eyes, but a look that said she was someone you didn’t want to mess with.

A sudden knock on the door made me jump. My hand instinctively reached for where my sidearm usually was before I remembered I was safe.

I peered through the window and saw an older man standing on the porch. He was holding a large casserole dish in his hands.

“Miss Riley?” he called out. I opened the door cautiously.

“It’s Captain Riley,” I corrected him. “Who are you?”