STELLA would have welcomed snow—it had a soothing feel—but the rain made her angry. It came in a steady swell the night before, driving in from the North Atlantic, and seeped through the walls of the apartment, smelling of salt and despair. Cold gray clouds settled over the city, and she could see little but the glow of streetlamps and taillights out her living room windows. The streets below were filled with the honk of horns and the splash of water as cars veered into the gutters and sprayed puddles across the sidewalk. Pedestrians cursed in response.
Stella had debated her decision in the middle of that sleepless night but was dressed and ready before eight o’clock. The moment the hour hand settled on the Roman numeral, she picked up the phone.
“District Attorney Thomas Crain,” she said after being connected to his office.
“He’s not in. May I ask who’s calling?” The young woman on the other end stifled a yawn.
“This is Stella Crater. Please leave an urgent message for him saying that I have found important evidence in the disappearance of my husband. I’ll wait for his arrival at my home. He knows where I live.”
Emma stood in the kitchen, plaid apron tied around her waist and a whisk in one hand. Her eyes widened in surprise.
Stella set the phone down and joined her mother in the kitchen. She filled the teakettle with water and set it on the stove. “When they ask, you’ll tell them that I was bewildered when I opened that bureau drawer. That it’s the first I’ve seen of Joe’s will.” She dared a glance at Emma. “Or his money.”