“Two men in gray uniforms carried three dark oak sideboards out of the side garage at eight in the morning.

I figured your mother was downsizing, but she switched off the lights the minute they drove away.”

I kept my hands in my coat pockets.

“My mother hasn’t said anything about selling furniture.”

“Could’ve been storage,” Arthur said.

He reached into his coat pocket and took out a white paper envelope with a clear window.

“This ended up in my box by mistake yesterday.

Your name’s on the second line, but the address was off by a digit.”