So they have known since the March that there is something, and who has it.
And they have not come to my door.
Why I have not produced the letter.
Because the moment it goes in, it gets read.
By their lawyer, and by Gil and Dorcas, and probably in a room by somebody official.
And on the second page of it there are eleven words in Ida Vreeland’s handwriting — I know about April. Prue’s mother is at my bridge — which mean nothing at all to a stranger, and which Gil Vreeland will understand inside about four seconds.
And then they will know what I have known since the ninth of October, which is that I am the reason their mother’s last five months were what they were.
And they will be right.
And the job, which I have put in this as context and which is the part nobody in Threndle has ever challenged me on.
