“I’m here, Mom!” she called, her head popping up from the downstairs landing. I ran to her, threw my arms around her, and covered her in kisses. “Are you okay? What is going on?”

Before she had time to explain, there was a knock on the already open door, and a voice behind me said, “FBI.”

My stomach flipped as I turned to look at the man who had spoken. What in the world could be happening now? It was only then that I noticed Alice sitting at the dining room table with a man who was now scrambling up from his seat.

“Jeremy Isaacs,” the agent said, holding up his FBI badge, “you’re under arrest.”

I had no idea who this person was, but even without knowing him, I could read his face. Try to run? Stay and face the music? As if on cue, sirens rang out from what sounded like both ends of the street.

“Son,” the agent said, “let’s do this the dignified way.”

Jeremy looked at Alice. “I love you. I’m so sorry. We were so close to being together again.”

Alice looked mystified.

A group of firefighters—our town’s first responders—came to the door as the FBI agent was saying, “You have the right to remain silent…”

“Are we okay here?” one asked.

I looked at Iris. “Are we okay here?”

She nodded, and Alice ran over to hug her. Iris pushed her away. “No way. You were just going to let my dad rot in jail? Take the fall?”

I felt my brow furrow.

“Iris, oh my gosh, no!” Alice exclaimed. “I was saying anything I could to get Jeremy to talk. I was trying to memorize every single thing he said so that I could tell the FBI and get your dad out.”

Iris raised one eyebrow at Alice. “Are you sure?”

“Honey, yes. I was playing a part.” She paused. “I have been through a lot in my life, and that was the scariest thing yet. The man faked his death. No, I was definitely not planning to run off to Panama with him. I was trying to stall because I was afraid if he got me in his car, he’d kill me.”

Before Iris could say anything else, another FBI agent strode through the door.

“Ms. Bailey, we’re going to need to ask you some questions.”

She nodded. “That’s fine. I will try to tell you what he told me, but I can promise you on my life I thought that man was dead.”

“Wait. What?” I asked.

Iris stepped forward and handed the agent her phone. “I recorded his confession here.” She grinned at me. “My dad is Bill Sitterly, and this definitely proves his innocence. And if that isn’t enough, I have the paperwork to back up all of Mr. Isaacs’s claims.” She was practically singing.

My head was spinning. “What is happening? Who was that?”