Excerpt from The Last List of Miss Judith Kratt by Andrea Bobotis, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

I heard the honk of a drawer opening in the kitchen. I braced. Olva moved back through the doorway and stood in front of me, clutching a squall of junk mail—coupons and flyers and whatnot. A single postcard sat on top.

"Ah, Olva! I knew I'd put this week's mail someplace but couldn't recall where. I haven't sorted through it yet. Thank you for finding it."

Olva stepped forward and handed me the stack of mail.

I examined the postcard. Perhaps I thought slipping it in the drawer would forestall its news. Or prevent Olva from seeing the connection between it and my new need for an inventory. More than anyone, she should understand the necessity of chronicling our family's history. It is prudent, after all, to keep a record of how one sees things, especially when others perceive matters so differently. On the desk is a letter opener made of cut glass that we played with as children; we marveled at how, held to the window, it produced a different color for each of us. And isn't that how memory works, too?

I studied the postcard again. Addressed to me, it pictured a majestic building. The architecture looked Greek Revival. The caption across the top of the postcard read Montgomery, Alabama and across the bottom The First Capital of the Confederate United States, 1861. The whole bottom line had been crossed through with a red ballpoint, as though history could be changed with the stroke of a pen.

"Olva—"

But she was gone. I flipped over the postcard, which was unsigned. But I had known from the moment I saw it. It was unmistakably my sister's hand, a muddle of agitated letters. The message had been scrawled off, with the last word sitting a bit apart from the others, as if she had been in the process of getting up from her chair as she wrote it.

Sister, I am coming home.

I stood with the postcard held aloft in my hand, as if aiming it at something. Or someone. It is important to know that Rosemarie has never been bound by any sense of responsibility to our family. You see, Quincy gathered secrets, but Rosemarie's impulse was to scatter them to the wind. And my sister believes I killed Quincy.

Well now. It was time to get my inventory underway.

Windsor chair
Wooden spinning wheel
Mahogany secretary
R. S. Prussia vase
Pie safe—Grandmother DeLour's
Butler's tray (silver plated)
Amsterdam School copper mantel clock
Hamilton drafting table
Letter opener (cut glass)

Excerpted from The Last List of Miss Judith Kratt Kratt by Andrea Bobotis. © 2019 by Andrea Bobotis. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks. All rights reserved.