I pulled myself up and left Evelyn's room. Chloe was waiting at the hospital. I needed to see the daughter I had always called perfect.
At the valet stand, I put on my dark cashmere overcoat. Something under the silk lining scratched my chest.
The familiar weight usually settled me before I left the house. This time the hidden edge caught each time I moved.
I tore open the seam. A cheap woven knot dropped into my palm, the sort sold for a dollar at a church bazaar.
A few stitches still clung to it. They were uneven and close together, the work of hands that had struggled to hold the needle.
A dried brown smear marked one thread. I rubbed it with my thumb and knew it was Evelyn's blood.
Harris knocked on the open door. He looked down at the silver dustpan in his hands.
He seemed olde
