Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

before he caught himself and pulled his hand back.

“You have to call Clara,” Robert said. “Tell her it was a family misunderstanding. Tell her we had permission to look at the blood work.”

“We did not have permission,” I said.

“I was trying to save us all from a long, slow drop, Martha,” he said, his face going a dark, mottled red as continue reading …