Chapter 20 - The Letter from Zurich
David walked back up the drive, sorting through the usual assortment of utility bills and grocery store circulars. But as he reached the porch steps, his pace slowed. His smile faded, replaced by a deep, puzzled furrow between his brows.
"What is it, David?" I asked, setting my cider mug on the side table.
"It's an international registered letter," he said, holding up a heavy parchment envelope with red wax sealing the back flap. "It’s addressed to Leo. Not to me. To Leo Hayes."
"From Arthur?"
"No," David said, turning the envelope over to inspect the foreign postmark. "The return address isn't London. It’s Zurich. *The Office of Hans-Peter & Strauss, Trustees of the Frank Hayes Memorial Trust.*"
My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Frank?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rustle of the falling leaves. "Frank didn't have a trust in Switzerland. Frank worked for the state transportation department for thirty-two years. He never owned a passport."
"Mom," David said, his hands beginning to shake as he slid his thumb under the red wax seal. "Look at the date on the postmark. It was mailed forty-eight hours ago. And look at the handwriting on the note inside."
He unfolded a single sheet of cream-colored stationery and held it out so I could see.
The handwriting was unmistakably, unequivocally Frank's. The broad, looping *E*s, the sharp slant of the *F*—the same handwriting that had filled out our grocery lists, signed our marriage license, and written love letters to me from the National Guard base forty years ago.
Written across the top of the parchment, fresh ink shining in the October sun, were four words:
May you like
*Evelyn, the house was only the decoy.*
Before I could breathe, before David could read the next sentence, a black European sedan with tinted windows and diplomatic plates turned slowly onto our quiet cul-de-sac, stopping dead in front of our driveway.
