Chapter 18: The Notary's Book

I put the phone on speaker and laid it on the pillow between us.

Padraig did not move.

"Go ahead," I said.

"On Tuesday morning," the bank manager said, "Mr. Colburn came to my desk before we opened."

"What did he want?"

"He asked whether the notary service keeps a record of every signing."

"It does?"

"By law, a paper journal. The name, the signature, the date, and the identification the signer showed."

"And?"

"The company clears the old books out after a few weeks."

"He asked you to keep it."

"He asked me to write the service a letter that day, saying the bank would need the book."

"And?"

"He paid for the certified copy himself."

I turned my head on the pillow.

Padraig was looking at the ceiling.

"I told him that was the bank's expense," the manager said. "He wouldn't hear of it."

He paused.

"He said, and I'm quoting, 'Don't tell her. She'll think I'm doing it because I feel bad.'"

"I'm going to kill you," I whispered.

Padraig shut his eyes.

"I'm calling because the copy came in this morning," the manager went on.

"What does it say?"

"The signer's line shows a driver's license number. It belongs to Althea Reichart Colburn, address correct, photograph not."

"The notary didn't check the picture?"

"She checked it against the woman standing in front of her. And there is a second signature on the page."

"Whose?"

"A witness line. 'Travis M. Colburn, husband, personally known to the signer.'"

I sat up and held the sheet to my chest.

"He signed it," I said. "He stood in my kitchen and told a stranger Shelby was me."

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