Claire met me at the back screen door with a dish towel in her hand and led me into the warm kitchen, where a fresh pot of coffee was brewing on the stove.

“I saw your uncle’s white pickup go past the corner twice,” Claire said.

She touched the crescent scar under her chin as she put two ceramic mugs on the table.

“He’s keeping an eye on this block, Mara.”

“Let him look,” I said, turning my silver wedding band around my thumb.

“He filed for probate three days before Frank died.”

Claire stood still for a moment, gazing out the little window over the sink.