She looked at the screen, at me, and back at the screen again.

She printed two pages and turned them around.

The first had my name on the signature line in handwriting that slanted left where mine slants right.

The second was a notary block, stamped, with a commission number beneath the seal.

“Who dropped this off?”

“It isn’t in the note.”

“Where was it mailed?”

She clicked two times. “Oak Ridge Road.”