I took out a square of cheap newsprint I had cut from the Tyler morning paper.

I unfolded the stiff paper and held it up right in front of his face.

“Yesterday afternoon I called the newspaper office up in Tyler,” I said.

“I paid the printing fee with the last of my savings.

I emptied my checking account to buy this ink.”

Arthur stared at the black print on the clipping.

“Evelyn Bradley of Deer Park,” I read aloud, keeping my voice perfectly even.

“Died peacefully at home.