Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
She gave a single, precise nod, her expression neutral but observant. She adjusted her silver-framed glasses with her thumb and index finger, then held the door wider for me.
“Come inside,” she said, her voice level and direct. “We have forty-five minutes before I need to be in the probate clerk’s office.”
The private office was small but neat, lined with heavy oak bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Evelyn Vance sat behind a dark cherry desk, placing her legal pad exactly parallel to the leather desk mat before she even spoke.
She took a silver ballpoint pen from a small tray and aligned it perfectly with the top margin of the yellow paper. Her movements were slow and deliberate, the actions of a person who did not like clutter or surprises.
“Your mother called my home number yesterday evening,” Evelyn said, looking at me over the top of her glasses. “She explained that you have six-month-old triplets, and that you are looking to change your living arrangements rather quickly.”
