At first I thought that I had somehow misread the directions and ended up in a place where there wasn’t a house at all. Where Beverly DeSantos’s house should have been, all I could see were towering hedges. They came all the way up to the edge of the sidewalk and were thick enough that I couldn’t see through them. There was a small break in the middle of these bushes, though, and it was only when I peeked through this gap that I could see the house hiding behind them.

I walked past the hedges to the long driveway and up toward the front of the house. It was a large, modern-looking house that appeared nearly flat from this angle. The house was made almost entirely of windows. But heavy curtains covered them all so no one could see in—or out. I wondered why anyone would buy a house with that many windows if they only intended to cover them all up.

As I got closer to Beverly’s front door, I began to feel more and more nervous. What if my hunch about her was actually wrong? Why hadn’t I found a way to bring Bess and George along with me? Was it possible that I was walking up to the house of a kidnapper alone?

Standing in front of the large front door, I took a deep breath. I just had to trust my instincts. I raised my hand and knocked three times.

Almost immediately I heard someone shuffling around inside. I could hear whoever it was come up to the door and then stop without opening it. I had to assume it was Beverly, and I also had to assume she was looking out at me through some kind of peephole, or maybe with the help of a security camera.

After a moment, the door slowly opened. But it opened only a little. Beverly DeSantos probably didn’t get many visitors, and it seemed like she didn’t know how to react.

“Hello!” I said, trying my best to sound cheerful. “My name’s Nancy and I’m a reporter. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”

I was smiling wide, and I hoped it didn’t look too fake. Beverly looked out at me from behind her door. Her expression implied that I had said something very strange, and I had the sudden feeling she did not believe anything I had just told her.

“Questions about what?” Beverly asked, still half-hidden in her doorway.

“Years ago, there was an article published about you and your grandfather,” I said, thinking quickly. “It made a lot of his fans upset. But I believe the article twisted your words, and now I want to write a new piece that clears your name.”

There was a pause as Beverly seemed to be considering my words. Then she pulled away from me. “No,” she said. “I don’t answer questions about my grandfather anymore.”

She leaned away from the doorframe, and I got a quick glimpse of the inside of her home. It was relatively simple, but the one thing I noticed was that the walls were covered in photographs. I didn’t have enough time to get a good look at them, but they appeared to be family portraits. There was also one large photograph, hanging just behind Beverly’s head and over the fireplace. It was of Christopher DeSantos and what appeared to be a young Beverly. They were both laughing.