Every Night at Six Thirty, Bob Drove Away, Until His Other Wife Said My Name

“Bob filed a petition with the town zoning board to move the property tax-sale notice straight into his name,” Clara said.

“If that tax sale goes through on March fifteenth, the public auction wipes out every earlier title claim on the Oakridge bungalow.”

“How many days have we got until March fifteenth?”

“Twenty-four days,” Clara said.

“And the county commissioner won’t give us a hearing without certified bank records that prove fraud.”

“Where’s Donald right now?”

“He’s waiting on you in the corner booth at the Oakridge Diner,” Clara said.

“He took a late lunch hour so he could meet you away from the bank counter.”