“He gave me directions to your grandfather’s grave site, to the place where they buried his ashes. He thought you might like to visit it sometime.”

Abby crumpled into a chair. “His grave site? You mean…my grandfather really is dead?”

“I’m sorry, Abby. I know you were hoping otherwise. It was always a long shot.” I reached toward her.

Tears welled up in her eyes and drifted silently down her cheeks. She walked over, sat next to me on the bed, and leaned close, her arms folding around my body.

“I hate having to break the news to you.”

She lifted her face, wet and red from her crying. “But how do you know it’s really his grave site?”

“I told him about the things that didn’t fit together for us. There’s an explanation for all of them, Abby. The inheritance check—the money had all been distributed. Nichols simply wrote you a check himself. He felt you were owed that.”

“But what about the house?”

“He thought it was a bad time to sell, so he was waiting for a market upturn. As executor he has that power.” “And the death certificate?”

“He didn’t know. A bureaucratic error, probably. He said he could check on it.”

She looked intently at me. “What did he say about the mental hospital?”

I shook my head. “Your grandfather was there the last two weeks of his life. He had a break with reality. They diagnosed him with a mental disorder just before his aneurysm.”

“Were the two related?”

“He didn’t say. I didn’t ask.”

“But they don’t have any records of his being there. If Nichols was willing to tell you that Poppy was in the hospital, why would the hospital cover it up?”

“That was to protect your grandfather’s legacy. And probably to protect all Nichols has worked for.”

She put her head against my chest. “Why…did he tell you these things? Why didn’t he talk to me?”

“I don’t know. He’s a very busy man, Abby. We’re fortunate he was willing to meet with either of us. At least now we know the truth.”

Abby pulled away from me and looked back toward the window, staring at the bright sunshine. “Creighton, do you really think he’s telling the truth?”

“What he said makes sense, Abby. It all fits.” I tried to offer a consoling smile, to give her some bit of closure.

“Okay,” she said resignedly. She sat silently for a moment, absently stroking my hand. “I’d like to visit Poppy’s grave.”

The car turned into a wooded area cordoned off by a three-foot-high stone wall. An archway at the entrance said “Resting Meadows.” It didn’t appear anyone had been to the cemetery in a while. There were no fresh grave sites and no fresh flowers on the old graves.