The Reading of the Will
The Second Will

Mrs. Pruitt's Hesitation

August 25, 2026 · Part 3 of 10 · 2 min

Mrs. Pruitt lived in a narrow row house eleven minutes from Aunt Solange's, the kind of place with a porch swing that had clearly outlived its usefulness but stayed anyway, out of loyalty.

She opened the door in a faded floral apron, flour still on her knuckles, and her face did something complicated when she saw us — relief and dread arriving at the same moment.

"Girls," she said. "I wondered when you'd come."

"We got your message," Georgia said. "The one in the photo box."

Mrs. Pruitt's hands went still against the doorframe. "That wasn't supposed to sit there for weeks. I told her — I told Solange, put it somewhere they'll find it right away, not buried under fifty years of pictures."

"So it's true," I said. "Something's wrong with the will."

She glanced past us, down the empty street, before waving us inside. Her kitchen smelled like cinnamon and something burning slightly at the edges. She didn't sit. She stood at the counter, gripping it.

"Your aunt was sharp as a tack until the end," Mrs. Pruitt said. "Sharper than most people half her age. Whatever that lawyer read out at the office — that wasn't the woman I worked for. She didn't leave you two a shoebox."

"Then what did she leave us?"

Mrs. Pruitt's jaw worked. For a moment I thought she'd stop there, that whatever fear had put that text on Georgia's phone had reached her too. Then she said, quietly, like she was confessing something:

"Three weeks before she passed, I drove her into town. Not to Lenz's office — someplace new, small place off Cardigan Street. She wouldn't tell me why. Made me wait in the car both times."

"Both times?"

"She went twice. Once alone with whoever worked there, once with a witness she brought herself — man from the hardware store she'd known thirty years, so nobody could say later he wasn't independent." Mrs. Pruitt's eyes met mine, and there was something like fear in them now, real and immediate. "Your aunt was making sure that will couldn't be argued with. She knew somebody might try."

"Who?" Georgia asked. "Who would she think—"

A car door slammed outside. Mrs. Pruitt's whole body went rigid, and through the kitchen window I watched a familiar pale gold sedan idle at the curb, engine running, someone behind the wheel just sitting there, watching the house.

Continue the story Part 4: The Other Office →

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