“Your father couldn’t get down the stairs.

Elias said so in July, and he said it again at the cemetery.”

“Then the deed’s no good.”

“The deed’s no good.” Arthur tapped the page.

“But a crooked notary in a hallway isn’t a case.

I need that in writing, with his seal beside it, before Friday.”

I held the page up to the window light.

The filing stamp on the back showed through the paper as a faint square.