I was buttoning up my coat to go to my husband’s funeral when my grandson burst into the garage, pale as a ghost. “Grandma, don’t start the car! Please don’t!”

Something—someone—had wanted her to not arrive at her own husband’s funeral… alive.

As they walked down the street, Helen tried to keep up with Lucas, who was moving with a mixture of urgency and suppressed fear. The cold morning air burned her lungs, but what was truly suffocating her was the question circling in her mind: Who would want to hurt me? And why today?

When they reached a small plaza a few blocks from their house, Lucas finally stopped. He looked around to make sure no one was following them and then spoke in a low voice.

“Grandma… I found something in the garage this morning. Something that shouldn’t be there.”

Helen felt the muscles in her neck tense.
“What did you find?”