In pencil, in his handwriting.

Milk, coffee, the good marmalade, something for Sienna that isn’t a book.

I read it three times, then tucked it into my coat pocket where the brass key used to ride.

The deed went in.

The will came back from the courthouse in its folder, and that went in too.

So did the appraisal notice Julian had lifted off this desk eleven days earlier.

The dial spun.