The sunroom smelled of Earl Grey and dried lavender. Evelyn adjusted her spectacles, the gold frames slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose. At seventy-eight, she found the modern world to be a noisy, demanding place, and she preferred the quiet company of her late husband’s library. Her phone, sitting on the lace doily beside her cup, emitted a sharp, insistent chime.
Evelyn picked it up. Her thumb hovered over the screen as she squinted at the notification. It was a text, ostensibly from FedEx. “Your parcel #FX-992 has been seized by Federal Customs. Illegal contraband detected. Law enforcement intervention required immediately. Call 1-800-555-0199 or face immediate arrest and prosecution.”
A cold prickle of adrenaline raced down her spine. “Illegal…?” she whispered to the empty room. She tapped the number, her fingers trembling slightly. “Hello?” she breathed, her voice cracking. “I—I’ve received a message. About a parcel. Oh, please, I haven’t sent any parcels to Belgium. Is this… is this the police?”