“Thank you, Brenda,” I replied, holding the bag against my side.
Inside, I found his watch, his phone charger, his toiletries, a paperback novel, and a gray women’s cardigan sweater.
“This cardigan isn’t mine,” I said, holding up the soft fabric with confusion.
Brenda looked at the cardigan in my hands. “I thought it belonged to the woman who visited him frequently.”
“What woman?” I asked, my heart stopping for a moment.
“I assumed she was family,” Brenda explained carefully.
“Simon didn’t have any family left,” I told her, feeling a cold wave of suspicion.
“I am sorry,” Brenda said quickly.
“How often was she here?” I demanded gently.
“Several times, and sometimes she stayed for a few hours,” Brenda recalled.
“What did she look like?” I asked immediately.
“She had dark hair and looked to be in her early forties,” Brenda answered.
“Did they argue while she was here?” I pressed further.
