Clara found a forged receipt for forty thousand dollars

a cardboard box of potting trowels.

“Aunt Clara,” Gary said, his knuckles cracking as he squeezed the sides of the box. “Donald said we have to leave.”

“Where is Donald?” I asked, looking toward the open front door of the cottage.

“He went to the bank to finalize the paperwork,” Gary said, his voice hesitant. “He told me the court ordered continue reading …