“Eleanor had a secondary savings account at the county bank,” Caroline said. “It was closed exactly three days ago.”
“Three days ago?” I asked. “She was already gone.”
“Exactly,” Caroline said. “The final balance was twelve thousand dollars.”
She opened the folder to reveal a photocopy of a signature card. “The bank teller said a woman came in with a signed power of attorney to withdraw the funds. But the signature on the authorization did not look right.”
She turned over another page, revealing a photocopy of a business loan document. “And this was in Eleanor’s mail last week. It is a personal guarantee for forty-eight thousand dollars, signed by your son-in-law, Trent.”
I looked at the neat cursive of Trent’s name, written in blue ink.
“Why would Trent sign a guarantee on Eleanor’s property?” I asked.
Caroline did not answer right away. She gathered her papers, aligning the edges against the dark wood of her desk with three sharp taps.
“That is what we need to find out,” she said.
It was twenty minutes to four when we walked out of the office. The sky over the strip mall was the color of a wet slate shingle. Caroline walked beside me, her car keys jingling in her hand.
“Be careful, Walter,” she said, stopping next to her gray sedan. “Your daughter’s family has already called my office twice today, asking about the estate value.”
“Rebecca knows I have the key,” I said.
“She knows,” Caroline said, opening her car door. “And she was very persistent about wanting to look through Eleanor’s personal desk.”
“There is nothing in that desk for her,” I said.
“I hope not,” Caroline said. “But Rebecca has been asking about the land valuation for weeks.”
“Rebecca always did have an eye for what other people owned,” I said.
Caroline set her briefcase on the hood of her sedan. “She called me from her kitchen. I could hear her husband in the background, arguing with someone on another line. They seemed very focused on the property lines.”
“The property lines have been the same since forty-two,” I said.
