She walked for nearly an hour through rain and mud, one stockinged foot slipping inside the remaining shoe. She remembered the journey afterward only in fragments: a stone wall, a barking dog, the sting in her palms, the sound of passing vehicles she did not trust enough to stop.
At the edge of Ravensmere village, she found a cottage with a porch light and muddy boots lined outside the door. The woman who answered was June Bell, a retired nurse. June took one look at her soaked coat, bruised face, and uneven footing and stepped aside without fuss.
Inside, with a towel around her shoulders, Claire used June’s laptop first, and then the landline to call Elise Grant, or Grant as she styled herself, a private investigator who was also her college mate and friend. She expected Elise would call her mad. Instead, Grant listened quietly to every word. When Claire finished, Grant said, “Do not call your husband. Do not call your family. Stay exactly where you are.” June set a mug of tea in front of her and said, “You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m here to help if you need it.” Claire stared at the steam rising from the cup. “Thank you,” she said gratefully.