The envelope was thick.
Not letter thick.
Document thick.
I reached for it.
Mrs. Pearl did not release it immediately.
“Mrs. Pearl?”
Her fingers tightened around the edge.
“I’ve worked in this house a long time,” she murmured.
“Long enough to know when something isn’t my business.”
“This became my business the night I drove your wife to the hospital because she couldn’t reach you.”
The air left my lungs.
“What?”
“Read what she left.”
“Mrs. Pearl.”
“When did you drive her to the hospital?”
“The night your son was born.”
That made no sense.
Corinne’s sister had taken her to the hospital.
At least that was what Corinne had told me.
I was in Atlanta that night.
Or that was what I told Corinne.
Mrs. Pearl disappeared around the corner.
The roses remained on the entry table behind.
Nine days earlier, I had carried another bouquet exactly like them through the hotel lobby in Charleston because Tessa had laughed and told me flowers made a man look guilty.
