“He said a bank.” She looked at the key in my hand.

“He said he found a way to make things right.”

I set the tin box on the hallway floor and opened the latch.

The surveys were on top, folded in thirds, with Frank’s handwriting in the margins.

Under them were his estate notes, a stack of index cards tied with twine.

Then a velvet box the size of a deck of cards.

Martha put her hand on the lid before I could open it.