The Truth Always Finds a Way Out
My chest went cold.
“How do you know my name?”
The gardener glanced over his shoulder toward the main gate and lowered his voice.
“Because your dad asked me to give you this if you ever came looking for him.”
He pulled a yellow envelope from his jacket. Inside was a letter and a small key stamped: STORAGE UNIT 108.
“But where is my dad buried?” I asked.