Some offered money for an exclusive interview.
I declined them all.
I had already learned how quickly an ordinary family could be turned into an attraction.
One caller wanted to film the basement room for a mystery channel.
Another offered to investigate the missing woman with a metal detector.
I told both to leave my property alone.
Meanwhile, Calder worked to locate Mara under the identity Iris said she had used.
Her team contacted authorities in two states and reviewed old travel records that might corroborate the account.
I did not ask for daily updates.
The past mattered, but I could not spend every morning staring at my phone while Sophie waited for her bedroom to be finished.
Luis resumed work in the kitchen and upstairs hall.
We left the basement cabinet room secured for investigators.
The dining room window received new trim after the archivist confirmed the film was fully documented.
I chose a soft green paint for the walls because Sophie said it made the sunlight look warmer.
That choice felt almost rebellious after months of gray documents and police interviews.
One afternoon, I found Iris standing by her own mailbox.
She waved but did not cross the street.
I returned the gesture.
It was not forgiveness, and it was not friendship.
It was an acknowledgment that we could occupy neighboring houses without claiming a right to one another’s private lives.
That night, Calder called with news that changed the investigation.
A woman in North Carolina had agreed to speak with her.
The woman said her name was Mara Voss.
Chapter 20: A Voice From North Carolina
Calder warned me that the identification had not yet been independently confirmed.
She would not disclose the woman’s address or personal circumstances.
What she could say was that the caller knew details about Margaret Bell and the Henley records that had never appeared in news reports.
The woman also remembered Iris helping her reach the bus depot.
She had contacted investigators after seeing Frances’s article online.
I called Leah with the information Calder permitted me to share.
Leah was silent for several seconds.
“My mother told me she didn’t know if Mara was alive,” she said.
“She might have been telling the truth.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to tell her?”
“I’ll do it,” Leah answered.
She hung up before I could say more.
I put my phone down and looked around the kitchen.
It had become easy to imagine every event as another twist in a story centered on my house.
