Whitmore is alive.”

Arthur stood so fast his chair scraped backward.

The attorney turned the monitor toward us.

Public records.

A Florida address.

A driver’s license renewal.

Property taxes.

Charles Whitmore had been living outside Sarasota for six years.

Arthur sat down slowly.

“My mother told us he died.”

I remembered the story.

Heart attack while traveling.

Private cremation.

Deborah had said the grief was too painful for a funeral.

Arthur had never questioned it because his relationship with his father had already been strained.

The attorney continued.

“There appears