“What sentence?”
She turned the sleeve toward me.
Ask Charlotte what happened to Evelyn’s second will.
My grandmother’s name seemed to rise from the page.
“There was no second will,” I said.
“You’re certain?”
“I handled the estate documents myself.”
“Could there have been another version?”
“She would have told me.”
But even as I said it, a memory surfaced.
Three days before my wedding, my grandmother had asked me to visit alone. Garrett insisted on coming. She seemed disappointed but said nothing.
Before I left, she pressed an envelope into my hand.
For later, she told me.
I had forgotten about it until now.
No—that was not true.
I had not forgotten.
Garrett found the envelope in my purse that evening.
He said it contained nothing important, only an old photograph and a note wishing us well.
I never saw either one.
“Charlotte?” Detective Ruiz said.
