The letter said the house was an asset of the estate.

And nobody — not Richard, not Hollifield, not Arthur, not Noreen, not me — had ever checked whether it was.

We had all simply assumed it, from the fourteenth of October onward, because an old woman had lived in a house for sixty-three years and then died in it.

I wrote one line on the legal pad.

Who actually owns Oak Street?

Part Twenty-Five: Two Dollars