where you’re going.
I turned the paper over.
An address was written there.
But what shocked me most was the sentence beneath it:
Ask for Daniel. Tell him the phrase: “White roses on Friday.”
I stared at the words.
What was going on?
Then my phone rang.
It was Mrs. Whitmore.
I answered immediately.
“Mrs. Whitmore?”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Stan, listen carefully. Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I looked around the mechanic’s garage.
“What’s happening?”
There was a long silence.
Then she said:
“My children are lying to me.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“The diamond brooch wasn’t stolen.”
I gripped the phone.
“Then why did you accuse me?”
“Because I needed them to believe I suspected you.”
I didn’t understand.
“Mrs. Whitmore, I’m confused.”
“I know.”
Her voice trembled.
“For the past six months, I’ve been investigating my own family.”
She told me
