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The underground parking garage of Miranda’s building was quiet except for her high heels clicking against the pavement. Most of the residents were at work, so her car sat alone. Bags packed with some summer attire plus sweaters for chilly New England evenings on the water, she looked forward to a change of scene and time to relax. Miranda put her rolling suitcase and carry-on bag into the trunk of her BMW.
Clicking the key fob to unlock the door, she lifted the car door handle, slid into the driver’s seat, and reached for her seatbelt. A sharp pain in her chest caused her to stop the motion. Her breath caught. She gasped for air. Unable to pull in oxygen, her lips went numb. The last thing she saw was the stenciled number on the column that indicated her condominium address.
Lisa C
