“I haven’t talked to Frank since our divorce four years ago.

I didn’t sign any loan papers, and I didn’t approve any property changes.”

He reached into the pocket of his brown leather jacket, took out three folded yellow papers, and set them next to Grace’s sugar bowl.

“What have you got there?” I asked.

“Three property tax receipts from 1984 to 1986,” David said.

“Your mother gave them to me when we redid the back porch roof.”

“Why would she hang on to tax receipts from forty years ago?”