The lender’s title-verification inquiry had prompted a review, but there had been no legal need for strangers to arrive at my doorstep after dark.

The representative was supposed to deliver notice during ordinary hours; the confrontation had spun beyond anyone’s plan.

“That makes more sense,” I said, and it did.

I could not undo what had happened, but I no longer had to imagine that every confusing event concealed another elaborate plot.

Patricia slid a letter toward me.

“This was written for you.

Madeline asked me to keep it with the chest until you wanted to know about the workshop.”

I unfolded the page carefully.