I scrolled down to the comment section.

The notifications were piling up by the second.

My followers were discussing the bizarre recipe.

“Three cups of salt? That’s a mistake,” one user named Sarah had written.

“Look at the bold letters in the instructions,” another comment read.

“They spell out S-O-S.”

“Something is wrong,” a user named Marcus posted.

“Clara never makes mistakes like this. The ingredients are a warning.”

I scrolled further down, my heart leaping into my throat.

“I just called the county sheriff,” a follower named Debra wrote.

“The lines are down because of the storm, but I got through to the emergency dispatcher on my satellite radio.”

“I gave them Clara’s address. They said they are dispatching a unit to check on her.”

“They’re sending someone,” another user replied.

“But the bridge on Route 9 is flooded. It might take them a while.”

A spark of hope flared in my chest, but it was immediately chased by terror.

They were calling the police.

But Harris was the police.

If a local deputy came out here, Harris would just turn them away or worse.