Chapter 4: What Diane Knew
The sedan parked twenty feet from my rental car.
Diane stepped out looking exactly as I remembered her — tall, composed, silver hair cut short, the kind of woman who always seemed to be arriving from somewhere important.
She was wearing a gray linen jacket and carrying a leather folder pressed against her side.
She walked straight to my passenger door.
I unlocked it without being asked.
She sat down.
Closed the door.
Did not look at me immediately.
"You look the same," she said.
"You don't have to do that."
"No." She set the folder on her lap.
"I don't."
We sat for a moment.
Through the windshield, the estate grounds had shifted into a different kind of motion.
Guests were clustered in small groups now, phones out, speaking in low urgent voices.
The music had stopped entirely.
Two members of the event staff were rolling a cart of equipment toward the parking area.
"How long have you known Morgan?" I asked.
"She introduced herself to me about eight months after she and Caleb started dating.
She came to find me.
I didn't seek her out."
"She came to find you specifically."
"Yes." Diane opened the leather folder across her knees.
"She had questions about Thomas's estate.
About the original will.
About what had been transferred and what hadn't."
I turned to look at her directly.
"She had questions about Thomas's estate."
"She said she was asking on Caleb's behalf.
That Caleb had concerns about whether everything had been handled correctly after Thomas passed." Diane's jaw tightened slightly.
"I told her I had no reason to believe anything had been mishandled.
She thanked me and left."
"And then?"
"And then she called again six months later.
With a different set of questions." Diane pulled a single printed page from the folder and held it toward me.
"She wanted to know whether this document was legitimate."
I took the page.
It was a photocopy of a letter.
Thomas's letterhead at the top — the personal stationery he'd used for the last decade of his life.
His handwriting.
His signature at the bottom.
But the words in between were not anything Thomas had ever said to me.
I read the letter twice.
Then I set it face-down on my knee.
"Where did she get this?" My voice came out very quiet.
"She said Caleb found it in a box of Thomas's things.
After you gave him some of his father's belongings a few years ago."
"Thomas never wrote this letter."
"I know that."
"He never wrote anything like this.
Not to me.
Not to anyone."
"Susan." Diane's voice was careful.
"I know.
I knew Thomas for forty-one years.
That letter is not him.
The handwriting is close — very close — but the phrasing is wrong.
Thomas never wrote in that register.
He was direct.
That letter is not direct.
It circles."
I looked at the page lying face-down on my knee.
The letter claimed that Thomas had been planning to leave me.
That he had been deeply unhappy for years.
That he had confided in a close friend — unnamed — who had encouraged him to stay for Caleb's sake.
That the marriage had been a performance.
That his real feelings had never been spoken aloud.
Every sentence was a lie.
Every sentence was also constructed carefully enough that someone who hadn't known Thomas well might believe it.
"She was going to use this," I said.
"I believe so.
Yes."
"For what purpose?
To do what exactly?"
Diane was quiet for a moment.
"There is a provision in Thomas's estate that relates to the family property in Charleston.
The house his parents left him.
It passed to you when he passed.
But there is a clause — a poorly worded clause that Thomas's attorney flagged at the time — that could theoretically be challenged if evidence existed that the marriage had broken down before his passing."
I stared at her.
"She was going to challenge the Charleston property."
"I think that was the plan.
Eventually.
After the wedding.
After she was legally Caleb's wife and had standing to support a challenge on his behalf."
"And the letter was the evidence."
"It would have been the centerpiece of it." Diane closed the folder.
"Three days ago she called me again.
She asked me to confirm, if ever asked, that Thomas had confided in me about his unhappiness.
That I had witnessed the marriage deteriorating."
The estate grounds had gone almost completely still now.
The last catering vehicle had pulled away.
The event planner was standing near the main entrance with her clipboard lowered, speaking to someone on the phone with her hand pressed to her forehead.
"What did you tell her?" I asked.
"I told her I would not lie about my brother." Diane's voice was flat and final.
"I told her I didn't know what she was building, but I wanted no part of it.
And then I got in my car and drove here."
I looked at the letter lying face-down on my knee.
"Does Caleb know about the property challenge?"
Diane hesitated.
One beat too long.
"Diane."
"I don't know how much he knows," she said carefully.
"I don't know whether he found that letter himself or whether it was placed for him to find.
I don't know whether he understood what Morgan intended to do with it."
"But you're not certain he didn't know."
She didn't answer.
That was its own kind of answer.
I picked up the letter.
Folded it once.
Slid it into my own bag.
"I'm keeping this," I said.
"I brought it for you."
I looked toward the estate.
Morgan was no longer visible on the grounds.
Neither was Caleb.
"She's going to come back out," I said.
"When she realizes the vendors aren't reversing."
"Probably."
"And she's going to try something else."
"Almost certainly."
My phone buzzed.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*Mrs.
Vance — this is Priya Anand, legal coordinator for the estate rental.
I need to confirm your identity before processing the cancellation finalization.
Are you available for a brief call?*
I looked at the message.
Then at Diane.
"How good is your memory for dates?" I asked.
Diane almost smiled.
"Exceptional."
"Good." I typed back a reply to Priya Anand.
"Because I'm going to need a witness."
Inside the estate, a door opened.
Morgan stepped out onto the front steps.
May you like
She had changed out of her white dress.
She was wearing something dark.
