Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
Martha Vance was already waiting by her car trunk when I reached the end of the long driveway near the curb.
She adjusted her grey wool shawl over her shoulders and took the heaviest suitcase from my hand, her face lined with deep concern.
“I saw the appraisal truck from my kitchen window,” Martha whispered, lifting the bag into the trunk. “I cannot believe she is doing this to you today.”
“She believes she has the legal authority,” I said, my voice barely carrying over the sound of the morning traffic on River Oaks Boulevard.
Martha slammed the trunk lid closed and reached out to press my arm.
“The guest room is ready, Cassandra. You have your own key, and there is hot tea waiting on the counter.”
I looked back down the private road, toward the stone pillars of the house.
“We should go before she calls the sheriff,” I said.
In my coat pocket, my fingers curled around the gold pendant.
It was Gordon’s mother’s pendant, the one I had slipped from Sable’s dresser the night before to keep it from being sold with the rest of the house.
