Chapter 1 - The Purple Bag
The drive from the Savannah cemetery to my modest home on the outskirts of the city felt longer than it actually was. In the backseat, the three girls sat in an unnatural, heavy silence. The only sound was the rhythmic hum of the air conditioner and the steady click of the turn signals. April had fallen asleep against my side during the first twenty minutes, her breathing shallow and uneven, while Lucy and Rachel stared straight ahead through the tinted windows.
When we finally pulled into the driveway, I turned off the engine and looked back at them.
"We're home, girls," I said, keeping my voice gentle. "Take all the time you need."
Lucy nodded slowly. She reached down, retrieved the purple cloth bag from beneath her coat, and clutched it against her chest like a shield. She didn't let Rachel touch it, and she didn't set it down on the floorboards.
Inside the house, I made tea for myself and poured juice for the girls. I wanted to give them space, but my mind was racing with Arthur's callousness, the unfamiliar woman waiting in the van, and the cold, unyielding silence with which Lucy had watched her father leave. I needed to know what was inside that bag, not out of a desire for intrusion, but because the look Lucy had given her sisters at the graveside suggested that Rose’s death might not have been as sudden or accidental as Arthur had led everyone to believe.
After I settled April on the sofa with a warm blanket, Lucy and I sat at the wooden kitchen table. Rachel stood by the window, watching the late-afternoon shadows stretch across the yard.
"Lucy," I began carefully, resting my hands on the tabletop. "What your father said today... you don't ever have to worry about that. You are staying right here with me. As long as you need."
Lucy looked up, her dark eyes—so much like her mother's—studying my face. She didn't cry. Twelve years old, and she had already learned how to lock her grief behind a wall of caution.
"He doesn't want us, Grandpa," she said softly. Her voice was steady, too steady. "He never did. Especially not after the office moved."
"The office?" I asked, my brow furrowing. "Arthur's firm?"
Lucy unzipped the purple bag just an inch. She didn't pull anything out, but I caught the corner of a heavy leather-bound ledger and the glint of a small brass key.
"Mom told me to keep this safe if anything ever happened to her," Lucy whispered, leaning closer so Rachel wouldn't hear. "She said Arthur wasn't working late at the corporate headquarters on Bay Street for the last six months. She said he was hiding something about the company's accounts, and that the woman in the van—her name is Victoria—wasn't just a coworker. Victoria is the chief financial officer's daughter. Mom said Arthur was trading his signature for a partnership, and that someone was going to take the fall when the audit hit next month."
The kitchen seemed to grow colder. Rose had never been one for corporate gossip. She was a high school art teacher, quiet and observant. For her to track Arthur's movements meant she had been genuinely terrified.
"Lucy," I said, my heart pounding against my ribs. "Did Rose talk to anyone else about this?"
"Only her lawyer," Lucy replied, her gaze unblinking. "And she left a copy of the files in the desk drawer at the house. But Arthur changed the locks before we even came back from the hospital."
She reached into the bag and finally pulled out the brass key, placing it quietly on the wooden table between us.
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"That's the key to the office filing cabinet where Mom kept her backup notes," Lucy said. "Arthur thinks he won because he buried her today and locked us out. But he didn't check Mom's old sewing box before he threw her things away."
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