I still have the last letter he wrote me from Vietnam. He was already dead by the time it arrived, so Ma grabbed it from the stack of mail. She kept it tucked in the pocket of an old cardigan she wore. Even though it was addressed to me, Ma kept it with her until she died. She’d sit at the kitchen table, drink her tea, and slip her hand into her pocket periodically and run her fingers over the envelope. It was the one thing I wanted when Ma died. My sister Maureen, the oldest girl in the family and by far the bossiest, was in charge of doling out Ma’s few possessions. Maureen made a stink about it until Danny and I cornered her in Ma’s kitchen and she handed it over. Maureen never liked the fact that I was the youngest and, in her eyes, a spoiled brat, but Ricky had sent the letter to me, and as Danny told her, Ma would have wanted me to have it.

I sigh, shake my head.

“Want to head back, Rita?” Chase says.

“What? Yeah, in a minute. You think the perp was coming back for that necklace?”

“Could be. Dr. Bradley hid it, and recently, for a reason.”

I sigh. “Who knows? But we need something to pop.” I stand still by the altar. The scent of flowers is sweet and pungent. “Let’s go. See if Lauren’s got anything.”

CHAPTER 22 - Molly

CHAPTER 22

Molly

THERE’S SOMETHING STRANGE ABOUT THE GATHERING AT MY HOUSE after the funeral. It’s almost like Jay’s birthday party, but everyone is wearing black. And my sister and parents are here, along with other family members. A carful from back home made the trip across Massachusetts.

But our little group, the ones who were here a week ago to celebrate with Jay, are clustered at the kitchen table with drinks and plates of food. Corrine organized it all, the food ordered from some fancy shop in Boston. Rich is manning the drinks, and he catches me coming down the hall.

“Aunt Ellen asked for a glass of white wine, Molly.”

“Um. Sure. In the cellar.”

He stands still for a moment. He’s rarely at my house and isn’t familiar with its layout. “I’ll show you.” He follows me to the door, where I stand on tiptoe and slide the lock open. He gives me a quizzical look, but I’m not going there. Not today, not with him. “Downstairs. Turn right. You’ll see the racks. There’s a light switch to the left.” I walk briskly away and into the kitchen, which is full of conversations mingling together in a subdued cacophony.

“Hayes said you went back to work yesterday,” Laken says.

“Yes. It felt good to be out of the house. Doing something normal.”

“Good for you,” Laken replies. “You need to keep busy.”