Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“Thank you, Martha,” I said, taking a slow sip of the hot coffee. “But if I leave this property, Sable will claim I abandoned the estate.”
“But the garage has no heating, and the damp is terrible for your joints,” Martha said, looking at the grey concrete floor with a frown. “It is barely fifty degrees in here.”
“I have the wool blanket Gordon bought when we went to New Mexico,” I said, gesturing to the cot. “It is enough.”
“Sable has been talking to some real estate people,” Martha said, her shawl slipping a little. “I saw a blue car parked outside yesterday while you were at the grocery store. The driver was writing things down on a clipboard.”
“I am not surprised,” I said, holding the warm mug in both hands.
Martha leaned closer, her warm voice dropping even lower. “My cousin Arthur is a retired investigator for the county sheriff. He knows how to find things people want to hide, and he can look into what Sable has been doing while you are stuck out here.”
