The sewing room door was still ajar.
Arthur followed close behind.
“You touch one thing in here and I swear—”
“You’ll what?” I turned. “Sue me? Please. I want a lawyer in this room as badly as you don’t.”
His face reddened, but he stayed in the doorway as I crossed toward the tall antique cabinet in the corner. I’d never seen it open before.
The brass key slid smoothly into the lock.
It clicked.
Inside hung a thick cream envelope from a thin ribbon, my name written across it.
My hands shook as I broke the seal.
“What is that?” Arthur stepped into the room. “What are you holding?”
I silently read the first page.
Then the second.
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My knees weakened, and I sat on Marianne’s sewing stool.
Dear Addie,
I told you that I used to work in my own store in the city, but what I didn’t tell you was that I still own that store. I left it in the care of Simon, the last person I mentored before retiring.
