“That old silver stamp in her purse.” Evelyn gathered her apron in both hands.

“I thought it was a cigarette case.”

“It had been expired for six years.”

She nudged the flowerpot closer.

“Jenna left this on your porch this morning.

She wrote your name on the paper.”

I turned the newspaper around.

Jenna’s handwriting was small and neat, and she’d drawn a heart in the corner.