Chương 6
He read them without touching my phone.
“Save those.”
“What do you think they mean?”
“I don't know yet.”
“You keep saying that.”
“You want me guessing, or you want me useful?”
That shut me up.
Elaine called while he was still in the room.
“I've spoken with someone at the clerk's office,” she said.
“The original recorded image is exactly what we saw online.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means no obvious clerical error.”
“Wonderful.”
“Patricia.”
“I know.”
“There's more.”
Deputy Reed looked toward me when my expression changed.
Elaine continued.
“The notary commission number belongs to a real Florida notary.”
“Darlene Price?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
“Does Lauren?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Can you find out?”
“I already have someone checking publicly available business records.”
Deputy Reed held out a hand, not for the phone but to indicate I could put Elaine on speaker.
I did.
He introduced himself.
Elaine immediately became more precise.
“The deed was prepared by a document service in Fort Walton Beach called Coastal Closing Support.”
Reed wrote down the name.
“Legitimate business?” he asked.
“Appears to be.”
“Who submitted it for recording?”
“Electronic submission through that service.”
“Any indication who ordered preparation?”
“Not on the recorded instrument.”
Reed looked at me.
“Mrs. Wells, have you ever used Coastal Closing Support?”
“No.”
Elaine said, “I already asked her.”
“Okay.”
Reed tapped his pen against his notebook.
“Could the service have prepared it based on information supplied remotely?”
“Certainly.”
“Then we need the intake records.”
“Yes.”
My stomach twisted.
“How quickly can we get them?”
Elaine answered carefully.
“That depends on whether they cooperate voluntarily.”
“And if they don't?”
“Then law enforcement has processes available.”
Deputy Reed nodded.
“We'll handle that.”
The word we'll did something strange to me.
For the first time since standing at my own front door, the problem felt like it had edges.
Not a solution.
Not yet.
But edges.
My phone rang again.
Lauren.
Reed raised his eyebrows.
“Your choice.”
I answered without speaker.
“Hello.”
“Patricia, where are you?”
Her voice was controlled.
Too controlled.
“At the motel.”
“Marcus says police are involved.”
“He told you that?”
“He's upset.”
“So am I.”
“This is getting ridiculous.”
I looked at Deputy Reed.
He kept his eyes on his notes.
“What part?”
“The part where you're treating us like squatters because of one stupid argument.”
“One stupid argument didn't put my signature on a deed.”
Silence.
It was only a second.
Maybe less.
But I heard it.
Then Lauren said, “What deed?”
My pulse kicked.
“The one recorded last month.”
Another pause.
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Then we agree on something.”
“Patricia.”
Her tone changed.
A little warmth appeared in it.
Not real warmth.
The kind she used when returning something expensive.
“You sound overwhelmed.”
I almost admired the instinct.
In less than a minute, she had gone from indignant to concerned, trying to move the problem from the property records into my state of mind.
“I slept four hours in a motel,” I said.
“I probably do.”
“I think you should come over and we can sit down.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because yesterday I couldn't enter without your approval.”
“That was a conversation about privacy.”
“No, that was a changed alarm code.”
“Those are connected.”
“Not anymore.”
Her breath became audible.
“Marcus is really stressed.”
“So am I.”
“He has work obligations.”
“He's on vacation.”
“He is working remotely.”
“I don't care.”
The words surprised both of us.
Lauren went quiet.
I rarely said I didn't care.
Women my age learn to package anger in casseroles, Christmas cards, and sentences beginning with maybe we should.
But I did not care about Marcus's conference call.
Not at that moment.
“Who is Darlene Price?” I asked.
The silence this time was different.
Longer.
I heard something move in the background.
A car door, maybe.
Then Lauren said, “I don't know.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you take so long?”
“Because I don't appreciate being interrogated.”
“I asked a name.”
“You're acting insane.”
Deputy Reed's pen stopped moving.
There it was.
A word chosen too quickly.
Not confused.
Not mistaken.
Not hurt.
Insane.
I felt heat rise in my neck.
“Lauren, where are you right now?”
“Why?”
“Because I'd like to know.”
“I'm out.”
“Where?”
“Running errands.”
“Which errands?”
“See, this is exactly the problem.”
“No, the problem is that my name is on a deed I never knowingly signed.”
She sighed.
“Have you talked to Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And he told me not to go to the house.”
Nothing.
“Why would he tell me that?”
“You'd have to ask him.”
“I did.”
“Then ask him again.”
“You're his wife.”
“And you're his mother.”
The old contempt slipped through there.
A tiny thing.
Almost elegant.
Deputy Reed looked up.
I said, “Do you know Coastal Closing Support?”
Lauren did not answer.
I heard another sound through the phone.
An engine starting.
Then she said, “Patricia, I have to go.”
The call ended.
Reed held out his hand.
“May I see the call log?”
I showed him.
He wrote down the time.
“Did you record that?”
“No.”
“That's fine.”
“What did you hear?”
“Only your side.”
“What did you think?”
He capped his pen.
“I think she didn't like some of the names you mentioned.”
That was the closest he had come to speculation.
Elaine was still on speaker.
“I agree,” she said.
I had forgotten she was there.
The three of us sat in a brief, ridiculous silence after that.
Then someone knocked again.
I stiffened.
Deputy Reed stood.
He opened the door.
Denise from the front desk stood there holding a white Styrofoam cup and a wrapped Danish.
She looked past the deputy at me.
“You didn't come down for breakfast.”
I blinked.
“Oh.”
“It closes at nine.”
She held up the Danish.
“Cheese.”
“Thank you.”
May you like
Her eyes moved over the papers, the uniform, my bare feet, and the Bible on the table.
She asked no questions.
