“Don't speak too fast,” she said. “Or too loud. She might be over a hundred, but her hearing's still pretty good. My name's Mabel, I'm her nurse.”
“I'm Jonah, this is Terrence, and that's Reena.”
Mabel nodded to each one of them. “Walk straight through there,” she instructed. “She's sitting in her chair.”
They walked down the narrow hall in a single file, and the hall opened to a wide room, full of old possessions, pictures, and old sofa and recliner, where Miss Mott sat.
She was a thin, very slight-framed woman. Her iron-colored hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which slightly pulled back the wrinkled skin of her forehead. Her face was further lined, and her skin seemed slightly translucent. But Jonah could tell that her blue eyes still held within them the locked treasures of a l
