about everything.
She planned appointments weeks in advance, kept every receipt in a labeled folder, and called me at precisely eight every Sunday evening. Even her kitchen towels had assigned places.
A private detective wanted money we didn’t have.
That was why her disappearance made no sense.
Four months earlier, she had vanished without packing a suitcase, or leaving so much as a note. Her purse, phone, clothes, and medication were all still at home.
Everyone who knew her agreed that walking away without telling anyone was the last thing Evelyn would ever do.
I returned home and spent days speaking to the police, but they had little to offer beyond vague assurances. She was an adult, there was no clear evidence of violence, and every possible lead seemed to end before it began.
That was why her disappearance made no sense.
A private detective wanted money we didn’t have.
