He pulled up parallel to our car.

Through the tinted passenger window of his SUV, I could see the silhouette of his head turning toward us.

The highway was empty, stretching out into the dark country night.

Suddenly, my phone in my purse began to vibrate.

The screen lit up, illuminating the dark interior of the car.

I pulled it out.

The caller ID displayed Richard’s name.

No one spoke.

The phone kept vibrating, a relentless, buzzing sound in the small space of the car.

“Answer it,” Claire said quietly. “Put it on speaker.”

My finger trembled as I swiped the screen and hit the speaker button.

“Evelyn,” Richard’s voice came through the speakers, loud and surprisingly calm.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“We are going to the police, Richard,” I said.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

Through the window, I could see his SUV matching our speed precisely, a black wall of metal right next to us.

“You don’t want to do that, Evelyn,” Richard said.

“It’s over,” Claire shouted toward the phone. “We have the papers. We know what you did to Rose.”