When I finally looked up, he said, "There's one more thing."
I wiped my eyes.
"What?"
"Mr.
Sloan left a separate envelope.
Not part of the will.
Personal.
He asked me to give it to you only after you'd read the letter."
He handed me a small white envelope.
My name was on the front, written in the same careful handwriting.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
It was me.
In my garden.
Kneeling beside my roses.
I was smiling at something outside the frame.
On the back, Mr.
Sloan had written: *"I took this from my kitchen window three summers ago.
You were talking to your roses.
I thought, there is a woman who takes care of living things.
I wanted someone like that to have my house after I was gone."*
I held the photograph with both hands.
My fingers were still shaking.
"He was watching me," I said.
"He was watching over you," Mr.
Higgins said.
"There's a difference."
I looked at him.
"How long did he know about David?"
"Based on his notes, at least two years.
He figured out the complaints were forged when he noticed the timing.
Every complaint was filed on days you were at work.
He said David must have had access to your personal information."
"And he never told me."
"He tried.
He told me he stood at the fence once and couldn't get the words out.
He said he was ashamed that he'd been angry with you for so long.
He said he should have known you weren't the kind of person who would do those things."
I put the photograph down on the desk.
