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“There are five birthday cards here.”
“Five?” I ask.
“One addressed to each Sinclair sister.”
My eyes meet Storm’s.
“Grandpa put all of them in the box?”
Storm shakes her head. “I’ve never seen them.”
I step closer as the technician lays the cards in a row.
Storm.
Willow.
Ivy.
Calle.
Hazel.
Each name is written in Grandpa’s strong handwriting.
My throat tightens.
“Those aren’t the cards he gave us,” I say. “The envelopes are still sealed.”
Thomas adjusts his glasses and looks at them. “James must have hidden these in the compartment.”
“Why write new cards instead of telling us the truth?” Mom asks.
“Because he didn’t know who he could trust,” Nathan replies.
The technician photographs every envelope.
Keating looks at us. “These are evidence. They’ll be opened carefully and preserved.”
“They’re addressed to us,” Storm says.
“They were concealed with evidence connected to a homicide investigation.”
“He was our grandfather.”
“And I’ll make sure you hear every word, but the technician opens them.”
Storm presses her lips together.
It’s the correct procedure, even if none of us likes it.
The technician starts with Storm’s envelope.
She slides a thin tool beneath the flap and slowly loosens the adhesive. Inside is a single sheet of paper.
Keating reads it aloud.
“My Storm,
