“I remember,” I said.
“Why would he do that if there was sixty or seventy thousand dollars sitting in a bank account for us?” Noah asked, his voice cracking slightly. “He wouldn’t have lied to us about that.”
“Maybe he didn’t know,” I said. “Or maybe Clara told him the money was gone. She’s the one who handled the estate.”
Noah rubbed his temples with his thumbs, leaving two black grease smudges near his hairline. He looked at the red shop rag, then threw it onto the battery box.
“If she kept the legal papers, they’re in the house on Maple Street,” I said. “In the locked metal box under Josh’s old desk.”
“That’s her house, Eric,” Noah said. “That’s breaking and entering.”
“We’re her sons,” I said. “Or at least, that’s what she’s been telling everyone for twenty years.”
