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T he morning sun slipped through the blinds, waking Julia up, and she groped for her phone to check her horoscope.

In the past six months, she’d gone full astrology girlie.

She always read her StrongSign horoscope, then checked three other astrology sites.

She’d become Queen of In-App Purchases and she asked the stars ten questions a week.

She did natal charts for herself, Mike, Courtney, Paul, Jennifer Aniston, and other random celebrities.

She memorized her customized annual reading.

She learned words like sextile and trine like they were SAT vocab.

Julia opened StrongSign and read today’s horoscope:

Your luck is going to change today. You are stronger than you know. Trust yourself. It is only the beginning.

Whoa. Julia sat up, astonished. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

It was an amazing horoscope, and so specific.

The last horoscope she’d gotten like that was on the day of Mike’s murder.

Too often they were generic affirmations, like integrate past lessons and determine what belongs to you and don’t be self-critical .

Julia blinked, her mind racing. If her luck was going to change, then something really good was going to happen today. She wondered what, and her first thought was that the police would catch Mike’s killer.

Yes! Her heart lifted with hope. So far there hadn’t been any leads, and she’d been worrying they’d never find him, as if Mike didn’t matter at all.

Maybe today was the day.

Julia believed .

Julia gulped breakfast, avocado on Ezekiel toast, and read her horoscope again and again, her brain afire. She could barely wait until nine o’clock, when she called her contacts on Mike’s case to see if there was any news. Neither answered, so she left messages.

She slipped the phone into her pocket and tried to start the day.

She had to get the mail because she was expecting a check for eight hundred dollars.

Then she crossed to the door, got her key from the woven bowl, and undid the deadbolt.

She stalled, nervous whenever she left the apartment.

She’d barely gone out since Mike passed.

She bought everything online, even groceries.

She ordered takeout on Seamless so she didn’t have to talk to anybody.

She braced herself, opened the door, and peeked into the hallway.

No one was there. She stepped out and locked the door behind her.

She hurried down the stairs, reached the ground floor, and opened the door to the entrance hall, propping it ajar with her foot.

On the left was a panel of stainless-steel mailboxes, and their mailbox was the third; APT 2 PRITZKER/SHALLETTE , read the label in Mike’s neat printing.

Babe, I put your name first. Happy wife, happy life.

Julia unlocked the box and pulled out the mail. The check hadn’t come in. There was only a bill from PECO and a yellow plastic envelope from DHL. Weird, she never got international mail.

She closed the mailbox, locked it, then slipped back through the door, making sure it locked. She hurried upstairs, reached her apartment, unlocked the door, and went inside, locking it again.

She crossed to the table and sat down with the DHL envelope.

The return address was Massimiliano Lombardi, Studio Legale, Via Santa Maria alla Porta, 5, 20123, Milan MI, Italia.

She didn’t know anybody in Italy. She opened the envelope and inside was a sheet of old-school embossed stationery, which read:

Ms. Julia Pritzker:

I am an attorney representing the estate of Signora Emilia Rossi. Client Rossi has left a significant monetary bequest to you, in addition to a property located at Via Venerai 282, Chianti, Italia, including a villa, vineyard, and land.

Please contact my office as regards this inheritance. I have been trying to contact you via email.

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.

Very kindly yours,

Massimiliano Lombardi

What? Julia read the letter again. It sounded like one of those scams from Ethiopian princes. She didn’t know who Emilia Rossi was. It had to be a scam. She rose with the letter, crossed to her desktop, and searched her email for Massimiliano Lombardi or Emilia Rossi. No emails from either.

She navigated to her spam folder, and two emails popped up from Massimiliano Lombardi. She opened the most recent, and it was the letter verbatim. So Lombardi had been trying to reach her. She opened his earlier email. It was a copy of the letter, too.

Huh? Julia racked her brain but didn’t know any Emilia Rossi. She picked up her phone to call Lombardi, then realized she didn’t know how to call internationally. It was a different time zone, too. She googled both answers.

Julia pressed in Lombardi’s number, then remembered:

Your luck is going to change today.