“I feel like such a fool, Sophie,” I said, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“He talked to me like I was a child who didn’t know any better.”

Sophie unzipped her heavy winter coat.

She reached deep into the smooth inside lining by her ribs and pulled out a thick, flat rectangle wrapped in clear plastic.

She set it down in the middle of the kitchen table, right next to the salt shaker.

It was the dark blue envelope from the shed.

“He got the blank county tax forms from five years ago,” Sophie said.