There were six messages from an unknown number, all sent around five that morning. The first was a photo of a newspaper headline: Woman Dies in Crash, Husband Questioned. My mother’s photo was beneath it. I had never seen that article. Then came a picture of Jessica’s own front door, taken in the dark. Then one last text. He killed his first wife. Stay away, or you’ll be next.

My hands went cold. “I bet this is why they all disappeared,” Jessica whispered. “I bet every one of them got this.” She zoomed in on the photo of her door. In the reflection of her glass storm door, half hidden by the porch light, stood the person who had taken it. A woman in a long red wool coat. I knew that coat. I had bought it for Christmas.