“They used a dead relative’s number,” I said. “Or a completely fabricated one.”

“That’s identity fraud,” Vance said. “Which gives me probable cause to investigate.”

We followed Vance’s gray sedan down a narrow, winding road lined with tall pine trees.

The headlights cut through the gathering dusk.

We turned onto a paved driveway that led to a low, brick building surrounded by a chain-link fence.

A faded wooden sign read: *Whispering Pines Haven.*

The building looked older than the photos online, with peeling white paint on the window trim.

There were only three cars in the gravel parking lot.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I turned to look at Tommy, who was still asleep.

“I’m coming with you,” I told Claire.

“I’ll carry the baby,” Claire said. “You need to focus on your grandmother.”

We got out of the car.

The evening air was cool and smelled of damp earth and pine needles.

We walked up to the front entrance behind Detective Vance.

The glass door was locked.

Vance pressed the silver buzzer next to the frame.

Inside, a dim hallway stretched out, illuminated by flickering fluorescent lights.