"Hello."
"Hello," I repeat as I knock on the old wooden door of the house.
A middle-aged woman opens it, and the hinges creak loudly.
"Hello, who do you seek?" she asks, her sharp eyes scanning me from head to toe.
"Mrs. Alwood," I say, looking into her eyes, hoping she knows something.
"I don't know," she replies quickly and tries to close the door, but I stop it with my hand.
"Ma'am, please, I really need to know. It's very important."
She looks me up and down again and says coldly, "I don't know, young girl."
"Ma'am, you must know—or maybe have an idea," I insist.
Without another word, she slams the door in my face.
I turn to Leah, my childhood friend who's standing beside me, tears almost in my eyes.
"It's okay, Jenna," she whispers.
"It's not okay, Leah. Nothing is!" I yell in frustration.
"We must have come to the wrong address or something," she says gently, trying to assure me. "We can go back and ask the nursemaid again."
"I'm sure she gave us the right address—and we're at the right place," I say, knocking on the door again.
The woman opens it once more, her face filled with contempt.
"You're still here? I think I might have to call the police."
"Yes, go ahead! Call the police," I snap. "But I think I'll do that first—and you will answer for abuse and kidnapping."
The woman's expression falters. She looks uneasy at my words, then turns and walks deeper into the house, leaving the door open. Leah and I exchange a look before following her inside.
The house is exactly how it looks from the outside—old and simple. Two three-seater couches and a rocking chair sit in the living room. From the doorway, you can see an open kitchen on the left-hand side.
"What do you girls want?" she asks, settling herself onto the couch and readjusting her shawl.
We sit opposite her. "I am Jenna Archer, and this is Leah," I say, pointing to my friend.
She shifts uncomfortably on the couch.
"We're here because of an incident that happened twenty-one years ago at the Archer mansion," I continue, watching her carefully for any reaction.
She looks even more uncomfortable now.
"I really don't know anything—or why you girls decided to come to me," she says too quickly.
Judging by her expression and nervous movements, I know she's hiding something. So I decide to push further. I'm not leaving this house without answers. I'm determined.