Chapter 7 - Somebody at the Rental House
Denise called just after lunch.
Her voice was tight enough to frighten me before she spoke.
“Mrs. Hart, there are movers outside.
A man says the house has new owners.”
Nora drove me to Alder Lane while Leah called the property manager and the police nonemergency line.
I was still wearing a bandage above my eyebrow.
I hadn't slept more than two hours.
But nobody was going to throw Denise and Caleb into the street while I lay in bed.
A white truck idled beside the curb.
Two workers carried empty boxes.
Marcus stood on the porch talking into his phone.
“Put those down,” I told the workers.
Marcus turned slowly.
“You should be home resting.”
“You should be off my porch.”
“Technically, Eleanor, ownership is under review.”
“Then technically, you have no right to send movers.”
Denise stepped behind me with Caleb holding her hand.
His eyes kept moving between Marcus and the truck.
“Are we getting kicked out?” he whispered.
“No,” I said.
“Not today.”
Marcus opened his leather folder and pulled out a document with a notary stamp.
“Your signature says otherwise.”
I looked at the page.
The signature was mine down to the crooked loop in the H.
There was one problem.
The date said I'd signed it at nine in the morning on a Thursday when I had been at Harold's sister's funeral three counties away.
“That is forged,” I said.
He leaned close enough that I could smell peppermint on his breath.
“Careful with accusations you can't prove.”
A police cruiser turned the corner.
Marcus immediately stepped back and put on a pleasant smile.
But Denise had been recording the whole conversation.
And when she showed me her screen, I saw something even worse than the forged signature.
May you like
A notification on Marcus's phone, visible when he'd held it toward her camera.
Funding appointment confirmed: Thursday, 4:00 p.m.
