I stared at the handwriting.
It looked almost perfect.
Someone had copied the way I looped the V in Victoria.
The same narrow G in Gallagher.
Even the little flourish beneath my last name.
“Courtney,” I whispered.
Samantha looked at me.
“Why do you think that?”
“Last month, she insisted on helping me organize paperwork after Lucas died. She took photographs of everything. Insurance forms. Bank statements. My driver’s license.”
Samantha’s expression darkened.
“That could be important.”
I remembered something else.
Two days after Lucas’s funeral, Courtney had brought me a sympathy card.
She made a ridiculous fuss about getting me to sign for a flower delivery that had supposedly been sent to the wrong address.
I had signed a blank sheet on a clipboard.
My stomach sank.
“She practiced my signature.”
“We can’t establish that yet,” Samantha said gently. “But investigators can examine the documents.”
