Ed Lynskey - Isabel And Alma Trumbo 02 - the Cashmere Shroud
“said Nita, Mo’s old best friend, over the phone to Isabel back at home. “But since we talked yesterday, I got to thinking about Mo, and I remembered she mailed to me a postcard a couple years ago, it must’ve been.”
“Really now.” Isabel’s pulse thumped harder. “Did you squirrel away the postcard?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think I did,” replied Nita. “I’ve turned my house upside-down searching for it, but I struck out. Who saves a postcard, even if it was from an old high school pal?”
“Postcards are worth little more than just saying hello and wish you were here.” Isabel’s pulse lost its optimistic uptick. “Do you have a memory of the picture, contents, postmark, or anything about it?”
“The picture side showed a gorgeous marmalade orange sunset, or maybe it was a sunrise,” replied Nita. “Sent from just where, I’m drawing a blank on. Its short message—her precise words escape me, too—was written in her penmanship, which I recognized straight off.
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