HE WALKED STRANGERS THROUGH MY LAKE HOUSE LIKE HE OWNED IT

of his face all the way down to his collar.

Because it wasn’t a lawyer’s letter. It wasn’t a police report. It was something much worse for him – something with his own name on it, in his own handwriting, that he had no idea I had ever seen.

And when he finally looked up at me, I slid it across the counter and said six words that made Diane turn and continue reading …