Every date, every signature, and every transfer lined up into one solid chain of official paper.

I touched the silver pendant at my collar as I read the legal names printed along the top of the deed.

Bob was still down at the hardware store, thinking I was sitting quietly in the kitchen waiting for the clock to tick around.

He thought I’d swallowed his story about retirement annuities and Uncle John’s medical bills without another question.

He had no clue that Donald had given me the signature cards, or that Clara had logged the search in the county vault, or that the green tax record was lying on my desk.