I give Casey, a true crime aficionado, credit for thinking of something I did not. But rest assured, I’m the only one who packed that box. Sure, Brian helped with the china and the mugs, but the second the house sold, I myself packed everything daunting of Decker’s (policy stuff included), then made four more piles: “Mine,” “Theirs,” “Donation,” and “Trash.”

There were some things that went straight to the trash, like a half-open box of Nut Thins and an electric razor that was on its last leg. “Donation” consisted of mostly clothes and some PS4 games. “Theirs” was a pile for Kurt and Debbie, which was just a pared-down and less meaningful version of “Mine,” which had everything else of Decker’s I never thought I’d get rid of. No one else was invited to that sorting party, and no one else touched the boxes of “Mine” with policy stuff in it.

But it does hit me that just because Debbie didn’t pack it doesn’t mean she wasn’t ever near it. Even though our relationship had been strained, Debbie did stop by my apartment on what would have been our first wedding anniversary all those Septembers ago to bring me flowers. Even though I knew she resented me for the decision I made to pull Decker off life support, hand-delivering a bouquet of flowers fresh from her cherished gardens made me wonder if deep down, she knew she would have done the same thing. I wondered if she was secretly grateful that the onus didn’t actually have to fall on her in the end.

I can still picture them: hand-wrapped bulbous sunflowers from her garden. They were so gorgeous, they looked fake.

“Do you have a vase for them?” she’d asked.

“Yeah, somewhere in here.”

She and I rifled through my moving boxes until I ultimately found a glass vase, too small for the bouquet, but it was all I had access to at the moment. By then, she apparently already had access to the something else: a policy transfer form.

“How could she do this?” I say to Casey.

“Who?”

“Debbie,” I mutter, still trying to make sense of this in my head. Granted, I was knee-deep in sadness and completely distracted, but the woman doesn’t strike me as someone slick enough to pull off a heist like this.

“Well, that makes perfect sense, Charlotte. The woman already tried breaking and entering earlier this week. I’m pretty sure she has it in her to steal from you.”

“But why, though? What could Debbie Austin possibly need that money for? I feel like she carries that amount in cash with her at all times.”

“Perhaps her financial status is just like everything else of hers: a facade. Probably needed the cash for a face-lift. Speaking of, I need to wash this face mask off before it sticks to my skin for good. You back in for the cruise, or what? Personally, I think it’ll be a great distraction for you, and I promise I’ll help you hack her financials, or whatever, as soon as we get home.”