Sara was getting out of the car and crossing the parking lot. “Are you serious?” Sara briefly wondered if she should confess she knew who Anne’s daughter was—that she had all along. But if she did, Gabriel would want the whole truth, and she wasn’t prepared to tell that yet.

“Yes. Her name was Margaret Donovan, and she was six years old at the time of Anne’s death. I have no idea what happened to her though, but it’s a starting point. If we could find descendents of Anne, we could actually do something with the blood flakes that have been preserved from the knife found at the scene.”

“How? We don’t have John Thiroux’s DNA. If we found blood that didn’t belong to Anne, based on a comp to a descendent, it doesn’t tell us anything except that someone else was in the room, which of course we knew, since someone killed her.”

“Well—”

“Hang on, Gabriel.” Sara was behind the guy, and he had turned around curiously. She kept the phone at her ear but moved the mouthpiece down toward her chin. “Can I help you?”

Giving her a friendly smile, the man raised the envelope in his hand and waved it back and forth. “Are you Sara Michaels? I have a delivery for you.”

“Thanks.” She held out her hand, still weirded out by his behavior. He wasn’t a mailman, and he wasn’t wearing a delivery uniform. No truck with FedEx or UPS on it in the parking lot either.

“Can you sign here? I’m glad you showed up. I can’t leave this kind of thing on a doorstep. I don’t get paid until I can say I put it directly in your hand.”

That made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “What kind of thing?” She propped her cell phone on her shoulder and signed the paper he held out for her, using what amounted to an S followed by a slash. It seemed like a bad idea to use her official signature, but she wasn’t going to argue either. She wanted him off of her sidewalk.

“Usually court documents. Subpoenas, stuff like that.” He shrugged and gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“Well, who sent it?” Sara glanced down at the envelope. It had a return address, but no name.

“All I can tell you is what it says right there.” He tapped the return address.

It told her nothing, other than a Naples address. Heart pounding, she said, “Okay, thanks.” It had to be from her lawyer. He was the only one who knew her current address. Just paperwork from the house sale, or something regarding Rafe’s trial. He was just trying to keep her informed and up-to-date.