Gemotions

The woman from the historical society, a woman named Agnes, kept calling me. Every day, she left a voicemail, each more urgent than the last. She wanted to meet, to "discuss the significance" of the house. I let them go to voicemail, but they felt like a constant tickle on the back of my neck.

"It's just a coincidence," I told my cat, Mittens, as I made a sandwich in the kitchen. She gave me a blank stare. I knew the police report mentioned a missing piece of jewelry, a diamond necklace. I was careful to lock up every night.

Agnes would not leave me alone, calling again and again. Each call ratcheted up a sense of dread.