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.
So I did what I could.
I printed hundreds of missing-person posters and carried them wherever I went. I hung them in supermarkets, bus stations, laundromats, diners, and across my college campus.
I gave copies to my coworkers and kept several folded inside my bag in case I met someone new. Before every shift, I checked my phone and prayed that one of those posters had produced a miracle.
It never did.
