Judith McConnell Steele

C H A P T E R 1 Judith McConnell Steele

The letter arrived in my mailbox, of course. It came in an envelope, natch. But that’s where the mundane ended, the mystery began. The envelope had nothing on it—no name, no address, no stamp with the face of someone famous or dead. No stamp at all. I hesitated, questioned myself. Should I open it? But, of course, I did. Me being me and all.

I slid my i nger under an edge of the l ap and (not fearful of the dreaded paper cut), ripped it open. Pulled out the thick sheet of paper and saw…