Neither answered.
“Bradley?”
His face gave him away.
Ashley stood.
“We needed documentation.”
“You forced open your father’s desk?”
“It wasn’t breaking in.”
I pointed toward the scratched brass lock.
“What would you call it?”
Then my phone rang.
Margaret.
I answered.
“Marianne,” she said, “I found the real-estate inquiry.”
“What inquiry?”
“Someone contacted a broker three weeks ago about preparing your cottage for an off-market sale.”
I looked directly at Bradley.
Margaret continued.
“The broker’s notes describe the owner as elderly, recently widowed, and likely ready to simplify her
