I went down the wooden steps and stopped exactly three feet in front of her.

“You signed that quitclaim deed,” I said.

Martha gazed down at the copper spout of her watering can.

“Your father wanted Glenn to have a solid financial footing,” she said.

“Dad was heavily sedated on liquid morphine,” I said.

“He had no idea what he was signing.”

Martha reached up and tugged at the brim of her straw hat, avoiding my eyes.

“Glenn needed the equity to save his hardware store,” Martha said.