“Tomorrow morning, I want you to meet with an attorney. Do not sign anything. Do not confront either of them privately. Preserve every message, bank statement, and document.”
“I have forty years of records.”
“Good.”
Her gaze shifted toward the porch, where my sofa still sat beneath the plastic.
“And I want the truck driver’s work order.”
The driver handed it over. The document listed my home as sold to a company called North Vale Holdings.
I had never heard of it.
Detective Ellis photographed the page.
Tommy saw the name and covered his face.
“You know this company?” I asked.
He lowered his hands.
“Sandra’s brother owns it.”
“Your brother-in-law?”
“Evan.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Sandra’s expression had become blank.
The detective looked at her. “You told your husband this property had been sold?”
“I told him the house was being transferred.”
“To whom?”
“To North Vale.”
“Why?”
Sandra did not answer.
Tommy did.
“Because she said the mortgage was behind.”
I turned to him.
“There is no mortgage.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“I found out three weeks ago.”
The police had begun removing the documents from the table for copying. Their plastic gloves moved quietly under the kitchen light.
I looked at my son, trying to recognize the boy who once slept with his hand wrapped around my finger.
“What did you think was happening?”
Tommy’s eyes reddened.
“I thought Sandra had borrowed money against the house. She told me you had signed everything because you wanted us to have it.”
“You believed that?”
“I wanted to.”
That answer hurt more than a lie.
CHAPTER 3 – What James Knew
At nine the next morning, the attorney arrived with a thick gray folder and no expression of surprise.
Her name was Ruth Bell. James had hired her during his illness to revise his will. I had met her twice, but I remembered the way James trusted her: his shoulders lowered whenever she entered the room.
She examined the documents while Detective Ellis sat across from her.
“The power of attorney is defective,” Ruth said. “The notary stamp belongs to a woman who died eighteen months ago.”
Sandra had taken the documents from her purse during the night. The police had found them in a locked compartment beneath the spare tire of her car.
Ruth continued.
“The death declaration is worse. It uses language from an old estate form, but the medical certification is fabricated. Saint Anne’s has no record of your admission. Dr. Voss did not have authority to certify death.”
“Can he be arrested?” I asked.
“Eventually. First, we need the person who asked him to sign.”
Detective Ellis looked at Tommy.
He had spent the night at the police station giving a statement. He now sat with both hands around a paper cup of coffee, untouched.
“I’ll tell you,” he said.
Sandra, who had been released pending investigation, turned sharply toward him.
“You will not.”
Ruth’s gaze moved to her. “You should leave.”
“I am his wife.”
“And you are the subject of an investigation.”
Sandra’s face went pale.
For the first time, she looked afraid without trying to hide it.
Tommy spoke before she could say anything else.
“She found out about the insurance policy.”
