June worked with her.”
I knew Eleanor Voss.
Not personally.
Everyone in Detroit over thirty remembered her.
She had funded music programs, libraries, neighborhood playgrounds.
She had been photographed with mayors and teachers and famous musicians.
She had died twelve years ago.
“My mother knew Eleanor Voss?”
“Very well.”
“How well?”
“Well enough that my mother mentioned June in her will.”
I forgot about the elevator.
“What?”
Harlan took a breath.
“There is a box in the Meridian archive.
My mother left instructions that it be given to June Callaway if the theater ever reopened.”
“And if June was dead?”
“To her daughter.”
My hand tightened around my purse.
“You knew about this?”
“I knew a June Callaway existed.
Our attorneys tried to locate her years ago.
By then she had moved twice, and the contact information in the foundation files was decades old.”
“My mother didn’t exactly disappear.
