The dirty dishes in the sink was my first clue that something wasn’t right. My little sister would never leave a mess like that. She’s always been and will always be a neat freak.
Plus, I have a gut feeling.
I can’t go to the police with dirty dishes and a hunch, so I look around more closely. There’s a stack of unopened mail on the coffee table that hasn’t been sorted and filed away. The throw blanket is in a ball on the sofa instead of neatly folded across the back left cushion. Her bed hasn’t been made, and her closet door is ajar.
Something is very, very wrong.