engraving and the condo sale had blown a hole through my trust. Was the story about my origins perhaps a little too neat? There had never been any photographs, no long-lost relatives showing up at our door. Samuel and I didn’t resemble each other at all.

I picked up the golden key. What was it meant for? What beautiful woman had inspired the portrait on the cameo? With Samuel gone, who could fill in these blanks? I pushed the chest back again, wondering how I’d ever find the answers now.

I stripped off and stood under the shower in Samuel’s bathroom, turning the hot water to steaming and letting it cascade over me for as long as I could stand it. A map of my tribulations was etched all over my body. The cartography of my failures. Reddish welts still demarcating the ribs hurt in the accident, the burn and tenderness of my arm, yellowing bruises in the various places Shim had laid hands on me, blemishes on my lip, scrapes on my face, the herringbone scar the surgeon made when he sewed up my leg. I scrubbed hard to wash away my sins.

I had no choice but to put my old clothes back on because Samuel’s were too small. All the garments in my dressing room had been torn to shreds. Using my landline, I called the police. The new owner’s insurance company would expect me to report the vandalism right away. The clerk assured me someone would be sent over immediately.

An emphatic knock on my door came half an hour later. The police don’t have to be buzzed up like the rest of us common folk. I opened it to see the detective built like a wrestler with pockmarked cheeks standing beside Vernon, his uniformed sidekick. “I see you’re back from your travels, Madison,” Gentile said and walked in.

He held up his hand. “Don’t panic. I’m not here to arrest you.”

He placed himself in the middle of my living room and revolved slowly as if he were at the Louvre and wanted to take in all the masterpieces while standing in one spot.

“Somebody doesn’t like you,” he said. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I came home to this. You’ve been demoted, I guess,” I replied. “Chasing after B and Es?”

“Ever the smartass, Madison. That’s healthy, actually. Meeting adversity with humor or something like that.”

I swallowed a stinging retort. There was no point adding any more problems to my catalog of misery. “Why are you here?” I asked. I was afraid to hear his answer. Was he really telling the truth about not arresting me? Had they been asking questions about Laurel and suspected me of being involved?

“Just cleaning up some details,” he said. “Let’s have a talk.”

We went into Samuel’s study and sat around the worktable he’d used when he wanted to spread out maps or illustrations. Gentile asked to hear my version, again, of the events on the night Hal had been killed. I decided to tell him the whole story of the past weeks with two exceptions. I mentioned nothing about Laurel. If he wanted to raise it I’d answer truthfully, but I had no intention of offering myself up on a platter. Nor did I reveal the true nature of Tomas’s discovery.

Occasionally Gentile would ask me to repeat something, but in the main he listened quietly. Vernon scribbled in his notebook. The detective seemed shocked only once when I described the cataclysm at the North Gate Cemetery. But he appeared to believe me; that surprised me.

“So he’s dead then, Ward,” he said.

“I don’t know. They flew him to a burn unit. He’s still in Kuwait.”

“That reporter Ari Zakar died. It was all over the media here. He filmed his own death apparently.”

His words brought back the image of Ari falling, the camera toppling off his shoulder. I pressed my hand to my eyes in a vain attempt to obliterate the sight.

Gentile took out a tissue and patted his forehead. I’d noticed earlier it was growing shiny with sweat. He got up and walked over to the window, stood there with his back to me.

“I did some looking into the woman, Eris Haines or Hansen. She’s had a checkered history. She was the subject of an outstanding warrant for a criminal assault on another matter. And I believe she was likely responsible for your car accident.”

If I’d been asked earlier whether anything else could shock me I would have laughed in disbelief. But this did. I pushed back my chair and rushed over so I could look him in the face. “How did you find out?”

“Our people working the stolen vehicle rings. They seized a pickup in a body shop raid. Matched the paint and the collision marks to our alert. Your car was deliberately driven off the road. It was traced to her.” He paused. “Mind you, your speed was excessive. Whether that was a contributing factor or not, we’ll never know.”

I wasn’t responsible for Samuel’s death. A huge sigh traveled through my frame and left me, as if an exorcist had just banished a demon. “Thank you for telling me,” I said.

“We’ll write this up. I’ll want you to come in tomorrow to sign off on the report.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll do anything you want. What about Hal’s murder?”

“It will probably end up in the cold case docket. I’ve got nothing but suspicions and your story at this point.”

As I walked him to the front door Gentile pointed to the mess. “Vernon will stay for a bit and document the damage. Give your insurance company my name. I wouldn’t hold my breath on finding the vandals.”

The ensuing weeks were busy ones. A wire transfer arrived, authorized before Ari’s death, for about seventy thousand, the amount he’d persuaded Tomas to part with from the proceeds of the condo sale. A fraction of what our place was worth. I hadn’t expected to hear from Tomas, but I imagined his sorrow over Ari was extreme.

The greater portion of the money went toward the next year of Evelyn’s care. As soon as I had my life somewhat back on track I went to see her. She lived in a Midtown studio apartment, in a featureless brown-brick housing complex. After I knocked at her door I could hear the creak of her wheelchair, then the door opened and before I even had a chance to step in, she leaned forward. I barely had time to crouch down to her level when she hugged me. I should really say clung to me, for it seemed long minutes before she was even willing to release me from her embrace.

She was already in her dressing gown and pajamas, so I’d almost come too late. As much as she could with her arthritis, she scrunched her knobby fingers and pressed them to her cheeks. Tears gathered in her eyes. Her words tumbled out. “I was afraid I might never see you again. I tried and tried. The hospital wouldn’t let me in. Only close relatives, they said. I called so many times. Wrote a letter even. Did you find it?” She stopped almost in mid-sentence and peered at my face. “What’s happened to you? Those marks on your face?”

“It’s nothing, Evie. Don’t worry about it. I’m here now. Everything’s fine.” I wheeled her over to the couch and sat beside her. I’m ashamed to admit this was the first time I’d been to her home. Samuel had cared for her, and when we got together it had always been on outings he’d arranged or for dinner or weekend afternoons at our place. The times he’d been away, he’d hired someone to help her out.

The apartment was cramped but neat as a pin. How she managed to keep it that way with her disability I couldn’t imagine. On a table beside the couch sat a pill box sectioned into the days of the week, a glass half full of tea, and a box of tissues. She had a small TV, radio, books, and things on a wall unit; a simple kitchen and bathroom; and a recessed area for her bed. There was one piece of fine furniture, a buffet that once belonged to Samuel. The top was crowded with framed photographs, one picture of her and Samuel, all the rest of me—the two of us walking in Central Park, me as a toddler holding a dripping ice-cream cone, school pictures from elementary through to university. That came as a bit of a surprise.

I’d made up my mind to say nothing about Hal’s game or my time in Iraq; it would only upset her. “Evie, sorry it’s taken me this long to visit you. Getting over the accident and feeling lost without Samuel took its toll. I had to deal with it in my own way.”

“You know he’s sold your place? I wanted to warn you. Samuel was going to tell you when he came back, but of course he didn’t get a chance. I begged him not to do it. It was your home but he wouldn’t listen.”

I wondered how much she knew about the whole affair. “Did he say why he wanted to sell it?”

“To help the museum. To protect its treasures. He was a good man but he went too far. He sold your birthright. That wasn’t fair.”

I smiled and said, “It’s done now and I’m managing okay.” Samuel and Evelyn had had such a long

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