A harsh crackle of static filled the room, and then a woman’s voice came on.

“I’m approving the property transfer for thirty-four Maple Street,” the recorded voice said.

The tone was flat, but the rhythm was mine, right down to the short pause before the street name.

My throat went dry as the short clip played twice and then stopped.

Lauren must have left her phone recording on the kitchen counter during one of our evening calls.

Frank hit the stop button and slipped the audio player back into his coat.