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answering machine, giving a bland outgoing message. After the tone, she took a deep breath—it was suddenly hard to talk—and then she said, “Hi … uh…Edward Marion? This is Susanna Morgan. I was a friend of your uncle’s …uh … great-uncle’s … and, um …well, I wrote his obit for our local paper and I’m very confused about a few things. …I need to …well …know a few more things about Bill. …I know this doesn’t make any sense and I’m probably wrong …I’ve
got
to be wrong … but I really do need to talk to you.” She left her phone number on the tape and then said, “Please call me.” Then she hung up, took three aspirins, and, even though it was three o’clock in the afternoon, got into bed and pulled the covers up over her head.
    Edward Marion called back around six o’clock that evening. Susanna was still in bed, although she hadn’t slept a wink, and the sudden noise of the phone made her shudder. When she answered it, her voice sounded thick to her, as if she’d been sedated.
    “Ms. Morgan?”
    “Yes.”
    #8220;This is Ed Marion. Bill Miller’s nephew.”
    “Great-nephew.”
    “What?”
    “You’re his great-nephew.”
    “Yes. That’s right.”
    There was an awkward pause. Now that she had to convey her news to another person, now that she had to say it out loud, Susanna didn’t know how to begin.
    “Listen,” she said. “I’m very sorry about your loss.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I was pretty close to Bill, I used to—”
    “I know. He talked about you all the time.”
    “I wrote his obituary for our local paper and I used a lot of information that your uncle had told me, you know, over the years.”
    “Great-uncle.”
    “What?”
    “He was my great-uncle.”
    “Oh. Right.”
    “Ms. Morgan, I’m afraid Bill was a bit of a …how should I say this … fantasist.”
    “You mean he made things up?”
    “I mean I think he probably believed them when he said them. And the more he said them, the more he believed them, if you know what I mean. I’m sorry if he told you things that weren’t true. I hope it wasn’t anything important. Or embarrassing.”
    “The thing is, Mr. Marion …”
    “Call me Ed. Please.”
    “The thing is, Ed …Somebody called, some movie nut, and he was pretty angry—we don’t get too many angry calls at the
Journal
— and he said that things I’d put in the obit weren’t true. So I did some research.”
    “You did?”
    “Yes.”
    “What kind of research?”
    “I went on the Internet and checked out the things Bill told me about his career.”
    “You researched my uncle?”
    “Yes. And it turns out, this guy, this movie nut, he was right. Well, not about everything. Some of the things Bill told me
were
true. Only they weren’t
really
true. This is going to sound kind of crazy. …”
    “Ms. Morgan, may I make a suggestion?”
    “Sure.”
    “Let me meet you for lunch tomorrow. I was going to call you anyway because my uncle left you something in his will.”
    “He did?”
    “Yes. He was very fond of you. I’ve been wanting to meet you, so this is a good excuse. I can discuss the will with you—I think you’ll be very pleased with what I’ve got to say—and you can tell me whatever it is you need to tell me.”
    “Well, yes, it might be better to do this in person. But, listen, I have to tell you, this is pretty disturbing.”
    “I can’t imagine anything too disturbing about my uncle. He was such a sweet old guy. But let’s talk about it at lunch.”
    “It’s an awfully long drive for you, isn’t it?”
    “Three hours. And I don’t mind. From what I’ve heard about you, it’ll be well worth it.”
    She told him where to go, that she’d meet him at Sunset restaurant at twelve-thirty. He said he was looking forward to it. She didn’t say anything.
    She’d have more than enough to say over lunch, she decided.
    Susanna didn’t fall asleep until one o’clock in the morning, which was incredibly late for