Headlights swept across the service bay, and a gray pickup stopped outside. A heavyset man stepped out holding a cashier’s check. “That is Dale Prewitt,” Marcus whispered. “He agreed to buy your motor home from us this afternoon, before we knew it was stolen.” My hands trembled as I held Helen’s envelope, the blue wax still unbroken, while Kayla’s name stared up at me from the guarantee page, printed right beneath Tyler’s forged signature.

Then two police cruisers rolled into the lot behind Dale’s truck, lights silent. Marcus switched on a lamp over the dinette table. I broke the wax with my thumb and unfolded two pages in Helen’s neat slanted hand. The first line stole the air from my chest. “Gordon, I hid this because I never trusted what Tyler would do. Read the second page before you say a single word to anyone.”