“Well, in case you were wondering, I’ve entered the I’ll-eat-whatever-the-heck-I-want phase of my life,” she said. “It’s not like this is what’s going to kill me.” She laughed.

Louisa understood that this was Maggie’s way of coping with her diagnosis, but sometimes the weight of it was too heavy for jokes. It wasn’t lost on her that Maggie’s death would be pretty devastating.

Maggie shook the box of cereal at Louisa. “If I remember right, these are your favorite?”

Louisa eyed the box. “They were my favorite. When I was ten.”

Maggie scoffed. “If it were my dying wish to share a bowl of Lucky Charms with you, would you really turn me down?”

Louisa leaned against the doorjamb. “Is that your dying wish?”

Maggie shoveled a bite into her mouth. “One bowl won’t kill ya.”

Finally Louisa snatched the box, took a bowl from the cupboard, and poured the cereal in. She turned and found Maggie holding out the jug of milk.

Louisa poured it over the marshmallow-dotted cereal and took a bite, aware that Maggie watched her with a bit too much interest.

“Good, right?” She raised her runaway eyebrows.

“It is good.” She’d forgotten how good. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“What question?” Another bite.

“Why would my dad give your portfolio to someone else?”

“Not just anyone. Ted Kauffmann.”

“So? My dad knows you. It seems like he would want to handle your finances.”

“All I know is he called me and said he thought Ted would do a better job with my type of investments. I don’t really ask questions.”

Clearly. She didn’t even open her statements.

“Besides, Daniel agreed. He said this was what was best. I figured if anyone was going to look out for me, it was those two. So I didn’t put up a fuss.”

“Daniel?”

“Yes, and we all know how savvy he was.”

Louisa knew. Everyone knew. Warren might’ve been groomed for this, but Daniel raised-by-a-mechanic Boggs was the natural. Louisa thought it was fabulous. She loved a self-made man. And she’d loved Daniel. Everyone did.

“How else was Daniel involved in this?” Louisa asked.

Maggie tipped her bowl back and drank her sugared milk. “He wasn’t.” She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt.

“But he had a withdrawal from his personal account that matches this number,” Louisa said, pointing to the statement.

Maggie’s brows turned into one straight line. “Coincidence?”

“It was two days before this deposit went into your account.”

The old woman shrugged. “Ask your dad. He would remember better than me.”

But Louisa knew that wasn’t an option. Her father had told her not to go “poking around graves”—which in a way she’d obeyed because she wasn’t poking; she was digging.