I asked Peter how he knew the box was blue. He said Lena mentioned it at Christmas, then changed the subject to probate expenses. I told him I had an appointment and would inventory everything through the estate. His smile remained, but his hand tightened around the porch railing. He reminded me that grief made people suspicious. I said good records would keep suspicion from choosing the story.

Martin waited at the arts center with the board's attorney, Ms. Cho. I had not agreed to an attorney. She explained that she represented the organization, not me or Lena's estate. The distinction mattered. We opened the locker together under a security camera. Inside the blue box were grant invoices, copies of canceled checks, vendor forms, and a flash drive sealed in an envelope. I photographed the contents before anyone touched them.

Several invoices came from Bellweather Outreach, a company I recognized from Peter's holiday cards. His wife owned it. The arts fund had paid Bellweather to administer youth workshops, but Lena's notes showed repeated attendance lists and scholarships assigned to students who never enrolled. Martin said he learned of the issue six days before Lena died. He wanted time to retain a forensic accountant before notifying the full board. Peter had access to the accounting system and the building.

I asked why Martin had not suspended that access immediately. He said he feared acting without proof would expose the fund to a lawsuit and public scandal. Ms. Cho interrupted to say their first duty was preserving assets. I heard Lena's voice in my memory, counting rests during rehearsal: silence had a length and a purpose, but it was still part of the music. My phone buzzed. Mother wrote that Peter was upset and asked why I was keeping Lena's belongings from the family.