He ends the call and opens up Settings and punches the icon for Do Not Disturb before she can try him again. But he still hears a whispering—some trace of a voice ghosting the air—and he pauses and looks around to see if he is being followed.

Ten minutes later, he stands outside Darla’s address, a two-story Arts and Crafts home split into two residences. Blinds whiten the windows. The roof is shingled with moss. A Subaru crowned with a roof rack and plastered with bumper stickers is parked in the gravel driveway. He climbs the porch and finds both mailboxes full. The street is empty, so he pulls an envelope out of one to see the name. A medical bill. Dolores Jensen, it reads.

Just then the door beside him creaks open and an old wrinkled face peers out “Stop right there!” an old woman says. In her fist she grips a black cylinder, probably pepper spray.

“I—” he says and raises his hands. “I’m not—it’s not—”

“I said stop! Stop!” Her long hair is up in a silver topknot and she wears big round glasses and a faded floral muumuu. “I’ll spritz you good! You stole my package yesterday! Does that make you feel good, robbing the elderly? Hmm?”

“What? No. I—”

“And you’re back today for more! Oh, I’ll pepper you black for that!”

“Please.” His hands remain up and he releases the envelope, which flutters through the air between them and lands on her bristled welcome mat. “I’m here to see Darla Noble.”

“Oh, so you stole her mail too!” She gestures threateningly with the pepper spray and he takes a step back.

“I work with her. I’m her professor.”

“You don’t look like a professor. Don’t give me this I’m a professor business. No, sir, and no, thank you. You’re not a professor.”

“Some of my colleagues feel the same way.”

Her mouth hikes up in confusion, revealing a yellow-gray ridgeline of teeth.

“She’s sick,” he says. “Darla. I’m coming to check on her. That’s all.”

“You’re the sick one,” she says and that’s when he realizes he’s coughing between his words.

“Listen, I’m sorry I looked at your mail. I was just double-checking who lived where so that I rang the right bell.”

Her eyes narrow. “Hrrm.”

He hurries a hand for Darla’s buzzer and a distant ring sounds. Though he means to help the situation, to call her down to clear everything up with the neighbor, the sudden movement startles the old woman. “I said I’d squirt you, didn’t I?” She steps fully onto the porch. “Well, here it comes!” She punches the trigger and a jet of liquid shoots out and splatters the porch railing.