Chapter 4 - NORA KEENE
Nora Keene was seventy-one.
Retired estate lawyer.
Rebecca’s godmother.
I had met her once.
I simply did not remember the name.
At our wedding to Rebecca, she had been introduced to me as Aunt Nora.
Not biologically related.
One of those adults who exist in childhood long enough to earn a family title.
After Rebecca’s parents died, Nora handled pieces of their estate.
Then retired.
Why had Rebecca written her full name on the photograph?
Because I knew her only as Aunt Nora.
Of course.
The police contacted Nora before I did.
Good.
By then the photograph had become relevant to the travel plan, and everyone wanted the chain clean.
Nora voluntarily agreed to an interview.
Then called me with her attorney present.
“Daniel.”
Her voice was older than I remembered.
“I was wondering when you’d find the back of that frame.”
I almost shouted.
Instead:
“What is Box 118?”
“Something Rebecca asked me to keep private until you found her directions.”
“Why?”
“She did not want grief turning every document into an emergency.”
That sounded like Rebecca.
Then:
“What is inside?”
Nora paused.
“You should see it with counsel.”
“Is it money?”
“Some of it concerns money.”
“Celeste knows?”
Another pause.
“I met Celeste once.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
There.
“What did she want?”
“She told me you had asked her to help consolidate Rebecca’s remaining estate matters.”
“I did not.”
Nora had refused to show her anything without written authority.
Celeste then asked:
“Is there a Sophie trust?”
Nora said she could not discuss it.
“How did she know to ask you?”
“I assumed you told her my name.”
I had not.
Then the photograph.
Nora asked:
“Did Celeste have it?”
“No. Sophie did.”
“Then perhaps Sophie showed her the back.”
Maybe.
A four-year-old would not understand the writing.
But she might have turned it over.
Celeste could read.
Then Nora said something that changed my anger into fear.
“Daniel, Rebecca was not afraid of a particular future wife.”
“Then why hide anything?”
“She was afraid of people turning Sophie into leverage.”
That sentence sat between us.
Not Celeste.
People.
The way Rebecca had grown up.
Her parents used money during divorce.
Custody.
College accounts.
Vacation houses.
Rebecca hated it.
Nora continued:
“She built her plan around that fear.”
“What plan?”
“Box 118.”
I looked at Sophie sleeping beside me on the sofa.
The photograph was temporarily with police documentation but would be returned.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Then Nora added:
“Bring your own lawyer.”
I almost laughed.
May you like
“Everyone says that now.”
“Good.”
