Until now.

I wiped my face and reached for the letter again.

At the very bottom, almost off the page, her handwriting turned cramped and urgent.

If he says Daniel Carter sent him—

That was where the line ended.

Not because she had chosen mystery.

Because there was no more room.

And then someone knocked on my apartment door.

Not a neighbor’s uncertain tap.

Not the soft courtesy of a delivery driver.

Three hard knocks.

A pause.

Then two more.

Drew went still. The room seemed to shrink around the sound. My eyes dropped to the pistol wrapped in blue ducks. Then to the hospital band. Then to my mother’s handwriting. Then back to the door.

The knocking came again.

Slow this time.

Confident.

Every hair on my arms stood up.

Drew looked at me and whispered, “Call 911.”

But before I could move, a man’s voice came through the wood.

Calm.

Warm.

Familiar in a way that made my blood turn to ice even though I knew I had never heard it before.

“Clara?” he called. “It’s Uncle Daniel. Your mother told me you’d have the case.”