Someone was banging on the front of the building.

Anchorage, AK—Tuesday 4:00 p.m. AKDT

Ada Southwick-Rose shifted from foot to foot while she waited to see if her mother’s renter would answer her knock. It looked as though he was home. There was a van in the carport. But it had been painted with black spray paint and was pretty beat up, not the type of vehicle one saw on the road every day. She wasn’t even sure it was drivable. Not only that, but he was taking a while.

Maybe he didn’t want to be bothered.…

She felt uncomfortable disturbing a total stranger, but she was worried about her mother. Edna hadn’t been home all day, and none of her friends knew where she was. It wasn’t like her to be gone for long periods of time, especially since Ada’s father had passed away. For one thing, her father had done all the driving, so her mother didn’t feel comfortable behind the wheel.

She swatted at a mosquito buzzing around her head as she turned to gaze out across the property. Coming here was probably a waste of time, but her mother had been talking about getting a dog and had mentioned that her renter was using the ranch as a shelter. Ada thought it was possible Edna had stopped by to see what breeds he had. If he could cite the time that happened, it would at least help Ada trace her mother’s footsteps. Edna might even have mentioned where she was going next—

“Can I help you?”

Startled by the sound, she whipped around to see a soft, balding man, shorter than she was, standing in the doorway. “Mr. Edmonson?”

It took half a beat for him to answer, just long enough for her to wonder if she’d gotten his name wrong. But that was the name on the lease she’d found on her mother’s desk and he finally answered to it.

“Yes?”

“I’m, um, sorry to bother you. I was just … I was hoping that maybe you’d seen my mother?”

He blinked at her from behind thick-lensed eyeglasses with a tortoiseshell frame. “Your mother?”

“Yes. Edna Southwick? She owns this property.”

“Oh, my landlady! No, I’m afraid not. I’ve only ever communicated with her over the phone.”

“She didn’t come to see the dogs?”

His expression remained neutral. “Was she supposed to?”

“She didn’t say so specifically, but she was talking about adopting. She’s been … struggling since my father died, so I tried to encourage her, told her I thought it was a great idea. My father was allergic, so they couldn’t have a dog when he was alive. But now … a pet might be just the thing, you know? Mom could use the companionship.”

“She hasn’t mentioned it to me.”

The worry that had been gnawing at the pit of Ada’s stomach for the past several hours—after she’d hung out at her childhood home all morning, working on her computer, waiting for her mother, who never showed—grew worse. “Oh. Um, maybe the next time you talk to her, you can help convince her that a dog would be a good thing.”