The twine around the shoebox was soaked through, and one corner of the cardboard had gone soggy.

Liam Brennan held it away from his coat as though it might spring open on its own.

I had seen that box once before, on the bottom shelf of Charles’s cart, tucked under a pile of rags.

“Mr. Wilson left very specific instructions that this box go to you, Miss Reyes.”

I studied the knot. It was a double loop, the same one Charles tied on the trash bags he hauled down the back stairs.

“What’s inside it?” “He asked that you open it by yourself.” Liam checked the brass clasp on his briefcase, even though it was already shut.

Rain streamed off the black umbrella he was holding over neither one of us.

My silver ring spun on my finger, once, then a second time.

“He was the building custodian,” I said. “Why on earth would he leave me anything?”

“That’s precisely the question he hoped you would ask.” Liam placed the shoebox in my hands.

It was heavier than paper would be.

The corner of a legal envelope poked out at the seam.

I stood at the edge of Charles Wilson’s grave holding the box against my coat.

The dirt was fresh and dark, and the funeral flowers were starting to droop at the stems.