“What would it sell for?”
She gave me a number.
I asked her to repeat it.
The second time sounded even more impossible.
Robert and I had bought the place when Cape May prices were nothing like they were now. We had stretched ourselves thin for years, renting it occasionally and doing repairs ourselves.
The current value was more than four times what we had paid.
“You could list this week,” Ellen said. “But I still think you should sleep on it.”
“I will.”
“There’s another reason.”
Something in her voice changed.
“What?”
“I found a folder in the hall desk.”
My heart jumped.
“What folder?”
“Robert’s name is on it. I didn’t open it. I wouldn’t. But it says ‘Margaret — Cape May’ across the front.”
I stood without realizing it.
“Where?”
“Bottom drawer of the little blue desk by the stairs.”
That desk had belonged to Robert’s mother.
