Julian smiled and slipped the envelope into his coat pocket.

“There were some administrative discrepancies,” Julian said.

“The kind of thing a grieving widow would easily overlook.

But since I cover family debts, I’m willing to let you keep a little corner of the garage for storage.

You can stack your cardboard boxes out there, where they won’t clutter up the main living area.”

I studied Julian’s face under the hallway light.

He talked to me as though I were a broken civilian, a helpless girl who couldn’t total a ledger or read a property deed.