When I told him he owned an auto repair shop, Charles smiled. “Honest work.” His voice suggested otherwise.
“What does your mother have to do with Camille?” I asked.
“Everything.”
Ethan picked up the envelope and flipped over the café photograph. “Taken three weeks ago.”
“My mother hired someone to follow me.” I stared at him. “Why?”
“Because she learned I was investigating Dad’s estate.” He paused. That pause hurt more than the photographs themselves.
“You told me your father left everything to your mother.”