“Where is your brother?” Gabriel asked.
“Daniel lives in Portland.
He flew home for the service and left this morning.” I put down the stew.
“He has two children, a job that barely lets him take a day off, and less interest in family mysteries than I apparently have.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“He knows I’m clearing the house.”
Gabriel nodded and did not ask further.
Then he reached into his coat pocket and brought out a small brass key on an old red string.
“Your father gave me this when I was seventeen,” he said.
“There is a box I was supposed to put in your hands years ago.”
I laughed without humor.
“My father died when I was eight.
What could he possibly have given a boy who didn’t arrive at the dump until afterward?”
Gabriel met my eyes.
“I knew your father before you knew me.”
