Higgins collapsed on her porch early this morning.
A neighbor saw her and called it in. Paramedics got there first, but…” He trailed off.
“She didn’t make it,” I whispered, sinking onto the sofa. Holt nodded gently.
“I’m sorry.
I know you helped her yesterday, a neighbor told us. And we checked her porch camera to confirm her last movements. We saw her place something in your mailbox right before she sat down for the last time.”
I stared at him.
“She… put something in my mailbox?
What?”
He nodded.
“She left instructions, very clear ones. You’re to open it. And I’ll be here as a witness.
Sometimes, people want to be sure their last wishes go the right way.”
I gripped the couch, mind spinning.
“What could she possibly have left for me?”
Holt offered a small, sad smile. “Let’s find out together.”
Outside, a neighbor’s kid rode his bike up and down the sidewalk, shooting glances at my house.
Ms. Pearson from across the street stood on her porch, arms crossed, eyes glued to my door.
Holt let me out.
