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“Isn’t that what you just did? Refused to entertain the idea of my father’s innocence because he’s already been convicted?” Frustrated, I pulled down another box and began sorting it.
Troy grew silent. Despite his line of work, he didn’t enjoy arguing with me. “You know that you saved her that night, right?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The DA argued that the only reason your father left without further harming your aunt is because he heard you crying in your crib. Realizing what he did wrong, he ran away. You gave your father a sense of morality.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t prove it was him. The real killer could’ve had kids of his own. Maybe hearing me cry reminded him of that fact.”
I blinked hard, wishing I didn’t feel so emotional. Maybe it was just the secrecy of everything. The idea that, for the past several years, Troy had known more about my father’s case than I had.
And yet I couldn’t blame Troy for that. Like he said, he’d tried to tell me when we went skiing, but I refused to listen to him.
My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a delivery truck. Both Troy and I watched a silver-haired man park in front of our house and reach into the back for a package.
“Did you order something?” Troy asked.
“No. Did you?”
“Not that I can remember.” He chuckled. “But that might explain why it’s been so hard cleaning out the garage. Too much stuff.”
I smiled and thanked the driver as he handed me a large box. Troy pointed to the label. “It’s from Dottie.”
“It must be the transcript.”
“No, the transcript would’ve come in a smaller package. She must’ve sent you something else.”
I stared down at the package. What in the world did she send me?
