For much of her life, Lori believed she possessed an uncanny ability to sometimes sense an event—especially a bad one—before it happened. Like when her brother-in-law was killed in that crash on the expressway in New York City, and when her late sister, Elizabeth, was diagnosed with cancer. In both cases, Lori had felt an obscure awareness of something terrible coming in the moments before it had occurred. Lori’s husband, Mac, was a very practical man, and while he respected her feelings, he attributed them to “coincidence and the law of averages.”

But Lori thought otherwise.

That’s why she never told Mac about her most recent inkling of foreboding. And now, pushing her grocery cart through her local Superstore outlet in Toronto, she set it aside to concentrate on her list.

She was preparing for the upcoming arrival of her niece, Samantha, Elizabeth’s daughter. Sam was moving from New York to Toronto to attend university, and Lori was happy to help her. Blinking back tears, she remembered seeing Elizabeth for the last time, so frail in her hospital bed, taking Elizabeth’s hand to her cheek and promising her that she would always watch over Sam.

Now, she was on her way to Canada. The plan was for Sam and her boyfriend, Kevin, to stop in Montreal to visit a friend there, and then continue to Toronto. Sam and Kevin would stay with Lori, a retired school teacher, and her husband, Mac, a retired firefighter, for a week, while Sam settled into to her apartment downtown near the U of T campus.

“Lori?”

Mac pulled her from her thoughts. She had stopped in the aisle as he browsed for salad dressing. “What?”

“I said Ranch or Caesar?”

“Either one’s fine.”

While waiting for him, she scrolled through her phone, wondering why she hadn’t received an answer from Sam. Lori had texted her more than 24 hours earlier with a friendly check on how things were going, but hadn’t yet received a response. Lori was mildly concerned because, as with most kids these days, Sam’s replies were usually instantaneous.

It’s probably nothing. Maybe she’s charging her phone or something.

Doing her best to shrug it off, Lori checked her list. She needed pickles and moved a few feet down the aisle. Deli-style or garlic? What would Sam like? Lori selected a jar of deli-style when her phone rang. It displayed an 802 area code and a number she didn’t recognize.

Likely spam or a robocall saying I won a cruise.

But as it rang, Lori’s instinct told her to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Mrs. Campbell, Lori Campbell?”

“Yes.” She didn’t recognize the male caller’s voice.

“This is Kevin. Kevin Tatum, Sam’s boyfriend.”

Kevin? This was odd. Why would he be calling?

“Oh, hi, Kevin. How are you? How’s Sam? Where are you?”

“Vermont. I’m really sorry to be bothering you, but well—this is—”