put right. I have done a grave injustice to Archer Story.’ ”
She stops. I don’t think anyone in the room is breathing. I wait as long as I can stand it, to let Hazel collect herself, then burst out with, “What injustice?”
“I don’t know,” Hazel says. “The letter ends there.”
I groan as Uncle Archer runs a hand over his face. “Your grandfather asked to meet with me, right before he died,” he tells Hazel. “I didn’t get to him quickly enough. I have no idea what he wanted to talk about, or what he thinks he did to me. There’s nothing, on my end, that’s ever been a problem. He was our family doctor and always kind to me. That’s it. May I?” He gestures toward the letter, and Hazel hands it over. Uncle Archer scans it quickly, frowning. “He never said anything to you before this?”
“No,” Hazel says. “He’d never even mentioned you. There’s something else, though.” She reaches into the envelope and pulls out a thin sheaf of paper. “This was here, too.”
Uncle Archer takes it, his brow furrowing. “An autopsy report?”
“Yeah. It’s, like, twenty years old.” My nerves start prickling as Hazel adds, “Twenty-four, to be precise. It’s for someone named Kayla Dugas.”
“Kayla?” I echo, looking at Aubrey. “Oona’s sister Kayla?”
Uncle Archer looks up. “You know Oona?”
“She sold us our dresses,” I say. “And told us about her sister. How she dated Uncle Anders in high school and college. And then she died. Right around the time you were disinherited. We noticed the timing.” I look sideways at Aubrey and flush, remembering how rude I’d been to her at the library. “Well, Aubrey did.”
Uncle Archer frowns at the report. “There’s no note or anything attached to this? No context for why he’d want you or me to have it?”
“Nothing,” Hazel says.
“Maybe I should get in touch with Oona,” he says. “It seems like this should have been left for her, not me. Although I would’ve thought her family got a copy long ago.”
Aubrey speaks up. “What about the timing, Uncle Archer? You got the you know what you did letter from Donald Camden right after Kayla died, didn’t you?”
“Before,” he says. “I don’t remember the exact timing, but it was a one-two punch. First the letters, then Kayla died. We came back for her funeral, and Mother refused to see us.”
“Huh.” Aubrey chews her lip. “I thought it might’ve been a cause-and-effect thing. Like, something about Kayla’s death made Gran angry enough to disinherit you.”
“No.” Archer looks puzzled by the idea. “Just coincidental timing. Mother was never Kayla’s biggest fan, to be honest. She wanted Anders to find a nice Harvard girl. Which he did, eventually.” Archer turns back to Hazel. “Was there anything else in your grandfather’s things addressed to you, or to me?”
“Not that I’ve seen. I can look again. I have to get home anyway.” Hazel sighs and puts the letter back into the envelope. “We’re packing up Granddad’s stuff.”
“Would you mind if I hang on to this?” Uncle Archer asks, holding up the autopsy report. “I’d like to show Oona. Maybe she’ll pick up on something I haven’t.”
“Sure,” Hazel says. “See you guys around.” She tucks the envelope beneath one arm and slips past Archer out the door.
Aubrey plucks at my sleeve. “We should go in another ten minutes or so,” she says. “Gran’s car will be on its way soon. Unless you want to stay here.”
“No, I’m going with you,” I answer.
“Will you come back?” Jonah asks.
“Probably not,” I say, my words clipped. A small part of my brain registers that I sound an awful lot like my mother when she’s about to freeze someone out for disappointing her. The rest of me is too upset to care.
“Milly, please.” Jonah leans forward, his voice low and urgent. “Can we just talk for a minute?”
Uncle Archer clears his throat. “I’m going to make coffee, if anyone wants some,” he says, heading for the kitchen.
“I do!” Aubrey, that traitor, jumps up to follow him.
The seat beside me is empty now, but Jonah’s smart enough not to move there. “Milly, I’m sorry,” he says. “I should’ve told you about my parents and Anders. Believe it or not, I was actually going to—”
“I don’t believe it,” I interrupt.
“I was actually going to tell you the night of the gala,” he continues. “I tried, when we were on the balcony. But you, um.” He tugs at the collar of his T-shirt. “You wanted to talk