On a Wednesday in late January, Sandra called me at 4:15.
“They found it.”
Laura’s medallion had been sitting in a cardboard box labeled Misc. Gold—Lot 17, priced for resale like a bracelet from a yard sale. The hinge was bent. The little dome of glass over the Virgin Mary had a crack running straight across it, corner to corner.
I offered to have it repaired. A jeweler I trust said he could match the glass perfectly.
Mason held it in his palm for a long time.
“Not the glass,” he said. “I want it to show what happened to it.”
Eighteen months after that night on the porch, Colleen pleaded guilty to her role in the forged documents and was sentenced to probation and full restitution to every family North Road had touched. Dolores chose to go to trial. It’s still going. I don’t attend. Whitmore Estate Services closed its doors last spring. Curtis is cooperating.
