That’s what she was thinking as she gradually made her way across the house to the front door. Who could it be? Why did they have to come calling now? What time was it anyway? She stopped walking and looked at her watch. It was an enormous thing, the watch with the largest face in the store—bought so that she could read the time without having to put on her glasses.

“Wow!” It was five in the afternoon. She had been writing for hours. That was good news because it meant she was inspired, anxious to know how she would end her account. That end was so near now. She felt she could reach out and touch it. When she was done, Alzheimer’s or heart attack or whatever horror could take over and she wouldn’t care. Really, she wouldn’t care.

She peeked through the window in the front door but saw no one. If this was a prank by a neighborhood kid—ring the bell and run—she would be annoyed. But better that, because then she could go right back to work. Or maybe she would make one quick detour into the kitchen to see—the bell rang again. How could it? She had just looked and no one was there. A short circuit? Whoever heard of a doorbell short-circuiting?

Maybe someone was trying to trick her into opening the door. These were dangerous times. Terrible things happened to old women living alone. They were such easy prey. Watch the news any night and it was easy to be frightened. She had many locks on her door, but so what? Life had certainly taught her harm comes in any door it wants and doesn’t need a key. Yes, she grew quickly worried, but again it was only because she hadn’t finished her diary. Her prayer, if she had been a religious woman, would have been, “Please let me finish. Give me the strength and the time to finish. The rest is yours.”

Uneasily, she peeked again through the window in the door and saw something odd. The first time she had looked only straight ahead. Now she moved from side to side and saw that the steps leading to her front door were covered with cookies.

“Waa—” bewildered she pressed up closer for a better view. Cookies. That’s right. From the sidewalk across the small but perfectly kept front yard to the door were sixteen octagonal paving stones. She had liked those stones the moment she first saw them. They reminded her of an English country cottage or a magical path in a fairy tale. Zoe had liked them too, and when it was necessary to dig up the entire yard years ago to repair the septic tank, both women insisted the workers replace the stones exactly where they’d been.

Now cookies covered each one. Well, not exactly covered. With her bad eyes, she could clearly see five of the stones leading to the house. On each stone were four? Yes, four cookies, big ones, like the kind Mrs. Fields and Dave’s sold in their stores. Miranda loved them. Chocolate chips. With dark or light chocolate chunks, macadamia nuts… it didn’t matter. She loved big chocolate chip cookies and here they were on her front walk!

An unfamiliar dalmatian loped onto her lawn in a hurry to get somewhere. But he must have caught their scent because, slamming on his brakes, he started gobbling. Dogs don’t eat when they’re excited, they inhale, and this guy was no exception. He ate so fast, jumping from stone to stone, that Miranda began to giggle. She didn’t know who’d put them there but she doubted they meant the cookies for this fellow.

“Follow the yellow brick cookie. They’re your favorites, right?”

She froze. The voice came from directly behind her. She didn’t know this voice, but it was a man’s and it was definitely right behind her, near her.

“Don’t you recognize him? It’s Bob the dalmatian. Hugh and Charlotte’s dog. Say hi to Bob.”

He spoke calmly, his voice quiet but amused. She had to turn around because there was nothing else she could do.

Shumda stood five feet away wearing a gray sweatshirt with “Skidmore” printed across the front, jeans, and elaborate blue running shoes. He had not aged at all from the last time she had seen him, decades ago.

“I had a whole little scene planned out with a follow-the-yellow-brick motif but it didn’t include old Bob. Cause I know you loves dem cookies.”

What could she say? It was all over. The time had come for her to die. Why else would Shumda have come? How many years had it been? How many thousands of days had passed since she last saw this handsome bad man on the porch of the house in Crane’s View, New York?

“What do you want?”

He touched both hands to his chest and put on a wounded expression. “Me? I don’t want anything. I’m here on assignment. I’ve been given orders.”

“You’ve come for me?”

“Voilа. Es muss sein.”

“Where… What are you going to do?”

“I’ve come to take you for a ride in my new car. It’s a Dodge! I asked for a Mercedes but they gave me a Dodge.”

She hated his voice. It was a nice one, deep and low, but the tone was mocking and arrogant. He spoke to her as if she were a stupid child who knew nothing.

“You don’t have to address me like that. I’ll do what you say.” It came out hard, steely.

He didn’t like that. His eyes widened and lips tightened. Something between them had shifted and he hadn’t been prepared for that. He’d probably expected her to whine or beg, but that wasn’t her way. His unsure expression changed to a leer and suddenly he was back in charge. “I told you I was coming, Miranda. A long time ago. Don’t you remember that dog you liked that was set on fire?”

“That was you?”

“Yes. I thought for sure you’d know that it was I with that one. What bigger hint did you need? Don’t you remember that Frances saved me by burning a dog?”

“You killed a dog just to tell me you were coming?”

“It was dramatic but obviously not very effective. Anyway, we have to go now. You won’t need to take anything. We’re not going far.”

The fear came. It rushed up through her like water and she immediately began to tremble. She hated herself for it. Despite the staggering fear, she hated herself for letting this appalling man see her shake. She started a deep breath that stopped halfway down her throat because she was so afraid. Still she managed to say “May I take something with me?”

“You want to pack?”

“No, I want to take one thing with me. It’s in the other room.”

He looked at her a long tormenting moment, then smirked. “Do I get three guesses? Is it bigger than a breadbox? Go on, but hurry up.”

Somehow she mustered her meager energy and shuffled toward the back of the house. Thank God she had the cane, because her body now felt like stone. It did not want to move; it did not know how to walk anymore. But she moved. She walked slowly and unsteadily down the hall to her workroom.

She went in and for several seconds stared at the desk and on it the open diary. She would never finish. She would never be able to complete it and put it away in a safe place where one day they would find it and know the whole story. Never. All over. Finished.

“All right. It’s okay. Just walk away.” She said it out loud as she walked over to a dresser pushed up against a wall. She slid the top drawer out and reached in for the piece of wood. The silver piece of wood Hugh had given her the last time she saw him. She had since collected other pieces over her long life, but they would have to stay here. She didn’t know what she would do with it wherever she was going but she needed to have it with her. Closing her fingers over it, she left the room.

Shumda was waiting by the front door. When he saw her he opened it. Bending forward at the waist, he gestured with an exaggerated sweep of his arm for her to go first. She shuffled forward, leaning hard on her cane. She was so scared. Her knees ached. Where were they going? She heard him close the door. Gently taking her arm, he helped her down the one step to the front yard. The dog was gone and so were the cookies. A few minutes ago it was all strange and funny—chocolate chip cookies on her footpath—but now funny was gone. Soon everything would be gone.