The downstairs kitchen brimmed with the aroma of baking lasagna. When I inquired after dessert, the woman doing dishes simply asked, “Mango pudding or maple ice cream?”

“Mango pudding, please.”

I received twin bowls—no subterfuge needed. Violet and I made up the heist to keep life interesting.

I walked back into her room with “Quick. We must destroy the evidence as fast as we can.”

The afternoon light hit the bed just so, diamond dust glittering in her silver hair. Her lively eyes sparkled. I half expected her to rise from the bed and declare that she was ready for her easel and her paints.

“Next time I come, I’ll take you to the garden.”

“Ooh, it’s been forever since I’ve been out there.” She swept aside the art magazine she’d been reading. “Anybody catch you?”

“Close call. They chased me down the hall, but I lost them in the elevator.”

“That’s my girl.” We exchanged coconspirator grins, then settled in to savor our treats. We discussed art, then speculated about which of the staff members were having affairs with each other. We placed imaginary bets on who would elope.

“My money is on the PT guy and the blonde night nurse.” I was about to explain why, but the clock on the bedstand caught my eye.

Have we been talking that long?

Half the afternoon had flown by.

“I have to go.” I leaned in for a hug.

“Hold on, I told you I wanted to give you something. There’s a box in the bottom of the wardrobe.”

“What is it?”

”We’ll talk after you’ve read through the contents.”

The robin’s-egg-blue box hid under Violet’s robes and caftans, Tiffany’s printed in silver on top. The sides were held together with strips of tape as if by the ribs of a corset. The once elegant, belle-of-the-ball box had aged into a disheveled old lady. Judging by the paint splatters that reminded me of makeup applied by failing eyes, the package must have sat in Violet’s artist studio for some time.

The tight lid didn’t want to open, but I managed. “Letters?”

I lifted out a handful of yellowed sheets from what had to be over a hundred pages, each covered with loopy cursive in fading ink. “I’ll bring a bigger bag next time. I don’t want to jam them into my laptop case and damage the paper.”

“Take the diary, then.” Violet was looking at the box, not at me. “The letters are in Dutch, anyway. The diary is in English.”

I fished out the little green volume from the pile of loose papers.

“I’ll read it on the plane.” I sealed the lid and slid the box back into its hiding place. “Are you sure you’re all right?” I returned to Violet for another hug. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Love you more.”