The next day, he carried the deed into the village. Mrs. Linton, the elderly caretaker who had known Henry for decades, squinted at the paper. “Odd, that,” she said, pointing to the repetitions. “Your uncle loved puzzles. He solved every single crossword in every newspaper. I believe he even made up a few. Maybe he left you one final riddle?”
Her words unsettled him more than he cared to admit. He asked about Henry’s wife, but Mrs. Linton only pursed her lips. “Terrible tragedy. People talk, but no one knows. Still, he wasn’t a man you could easily understand. Always seemed… elsewhere, even when he was standing in front of you.”