“Placed it in a bank deposit box under an alias.”
“Where's the key?”
Alex looked at me.
“I thought you had it.”
“I don't.”
“He left it to you.”
“No, he didn't.”
Alex's face changed.
Maya asked, “Who handled the estate?”
I knew before I said the name.
My sister.
“Laura.”
Laura lived three states away.
We had not spoken in nearly six months because of a ridiculous argument over our mother's old dining set.
She answered my call sounding annoyed.
“Evelyn, if this is about that table—”
“Dad's safe-deposit boxes.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Did Dad have a safe-deposit box under another name?”
“Why are you asking?”
My pulse quickened.
“Laura.”
Another pause.
Then my sister whispered, “You need to come here.”
Alex stood.
“Why?”
Laura heard him.
“Is that Alex?”
“Yes.”
Her voice began shaking.
“Bring him.”
We flew out that night.
Laura lived in a small colonial house surrounded by maple trees.
