I threw the strap over my shoulder and walked to the door.

I did not take the grand grand staircase in the foyer.

Instead, I slipped down the narrow, carpeted stairs meant for the household staff.

I had walked these stairs a thousand times when I was just the housekeeper.

Back then, I was invisible, and invisibility felt like safety now.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the side mudroom.

The air was cooler here, smelling of wet umbrellas and damp stone.

My hand reached out for the heavy brass handle of the side exit.

If I could reach the train station, I could be in New York by nightfall, and on a bus to West Virginia by morning.

I gripped the cold metal of the handle, ready to pull it open.

Suddenly, the phone in my coat pocket vibrated violently.

The screen lit up against the dim light of the mudroom.

It was another message from the unlisted number.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the glass.

I tapped the message, and a PDF file opened.