Chapter 10: The Locked Door

I opened the blue folder under the porch light and held up the first page.

"Read this out loud," I said.

The lawyer did not take it.

"It's an old deed," I said. "Recorded in 2008. It names Margaret Larkin as the owner, and the will beside it names me."

"Mrs. Larkin has a more recent..."

"Give me the recording number."

He blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"The county stamps a number on every recorded deed. You said Friday. Read me the number."

The neighbor in the bathrobe came closer to the fence, holding up her phone.

"Counselor?" she said. "Are you going to answer her?"

The lawyer's jaw worked.

"The paperwork is in my office," he said.

"Then I'll wait here while you fetch it."

"It's midnight."

"You were out here changing my locks at midnight."

Somebody on the sidewalk laughed.

The locksmith, who had been kneeling over my door with the screwdriver, stood up slowly.

"Sir," he said to the lawyer. "Nobody told me there was a dispute."

"There is no dispute."

"The lady has a will."

"The lady has..."

"I'm going home," the locksmith said, and he tucked the new lock under his arm.

He walked to his van.

The lawyer turned on his heel and went down the path.

The van and the sedan pulled away in opposite directions, and the street fell quiet.

The tension broke, and my legs went to water.

The woman in the bathrobe crossed the walk and put a cold hand over mine.

"Honey," she said. "Your mother gave me a key in 2008. In case of fire."

"She did?"

"She said, if anything ever happens to me, you keep this. I kept it for seventeen years."

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