The Major in the Kitchen — The Night Wendell Pruitt’s Story Fell Apart

“Are those your notes?” I asked.

“No.

Wendell’s handwriting.” She held up the page, then looked toward the hall.

“He used my sewing room to sort mail sometimes.

Maybe he forgot it was there.”

We photographed the location as we found it, kept the documents together, and handed copies to Miriam later.

No clever hacking, no secret rummaging through his accounts.

The page had been stored among Ruth’s belongings, in her own room.