“Nothing as glamorous as that,” says Anne from the door of the room. She has pulled her hair into a ponytail but looks only marginally more conventional. The burgundy streak snakes back from her left temple. “There are dates, appointment reminders, notes about clients when he was in private practice and about cases when he was on the bench.”

“So you’ve looked inside them?” Joy asks.

“Oh yeah.” My sister has one hand on the door frame and appears to feel no guilt. “He allowed us to look. He just chose which pages we could see, and he had to do that. I mean, legally. He couldn’t show us everything. What kind of lawyer would do that? What kind of judge?” To me, she says, “You remember him as a disciplinarian, but he wasn’t always so strict.”

I’m thinking that Margo would have something pithy to say about that, when Anne tells Joy, “Papa loves music. Will you go down and play the piano for him?”

Joy laughs. “On what?”

There was a silent beat. “Duh.”

“I didn’t see a piano.”

“You didn’t look past the front rooms. Try the conservatory.”

I’m the one who laughs now. “The conservatory? That’s rich. Joy, she means the sunroom, out the door at the back of the living room. And she’s right. He’ll love it.”

“Did Margo play the piano?” Joy asks me.

“Nope.”

Breaking into a bright smile, she jauntily pushes to her feet. I catch her hand as she starts to breeze past me, but when she eyes me in question, I pause. How to explain that I don’t want her to leave me alone in this house, that she is my confidence here, physical proof that I’ve done plenty right?

But I’m not going into that now, not with Anne at the door. So I just mime a kiss and release her hand.

Anne watches after her until we hear her skip down the stairs. Then, pushing her hands deep into her coverall pockets, she enters the room. “I didn’t want to talk in front of her. I’m really glad you’re here, Mal.”

She stops short of saying something, simply presses her lips together and looks at the fallen books. As I wait for whatever it is that she doesn’t want Joy to hear, I gather them up and, climbing the stairs just enough, slide them onto the attic floor. The attic is something to search. There are photos there that Joy wants to see, and other personal mementos of mine. There may be a gun.

Behind me, Anne remains quiet, but she wouldn’t have come up here for nothing. After backing down the steps with care, I turn to face her.

Chapter 6

“I wasn’t sure you’d ever come back,” she says. The hands in her pockets bring her shoulders together, giving the illusion of a shrug. Clearly, she’s unsure of the me who is here.

“I wasn’t either.” I glance at the attic. “Remember how we used to play there?”