“There was an account access attempt.”

“Which account?”

He looked at me.

“Yours.”

Marlene reached for the candy bowl and moved it toward the lamp.

Six inches.

An unnecessary adjustment.

She was always rearranging things.

At family dinners, she’d straighten forks while people were eating.

She turned photographs on the mantel until every frame faced precisely forward.

When she became nervous, her hands looked for something to organize.

“When?” I asked.

Daniel looked back at the notice.

“Today.”