my attorney is addressing a suspicious document that says otherwise.’
His tone changed immediately.
‘What suspicious document?’
‘A transfer I never signed.’
Silence.
Then Bridget spoke in the background.
‘Paul, what’s she talking about?’
For the first time, I wondered whether my daughter knew everything her husband had done.
I had assumed she was involved because her name appeared on the document.
But assumptions were precisely what had brought us here.
‘Paul,’ I said, ‘my attorney will handle any ownership questions.
Please stop disturbing the tenant.’
He made a frustrated sound.
‘Look, Dorothy, we were planning to discuss this with you later.
My parents are thinking about relocating, and this place would be perfect.
Bridget and I might move here permanently after September.
We were going to make it work for everyone.’
‘For everyone?’
‘You could still visit.’
I stared at the roses.
They needed pruning.
Arthur used to do that every spring.
‘You mean I could visit my own home if you invited me?’
He didn’t answer.
I heard another man’s voice.
‘Paul, hand me that phone.’
It was his father, Robert.
Robert Whitaker had spent thirty years operating a plumbing supply company in Arizona.
He wasn’t a particularly affectionate man, but he believed in paying bills and honoring agreements.
‘Dorothy,’ he said, ‘I apologize for the confusion.
Paul told us the property had been transferred to him and Bridget.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘He showed us paperwork.’
‘Then I suggest you ask him where he got it.’
There was a long pause.
‘What exactly are you saying?’
‘I’m saying somebody submitted a deed with a signature I didn’t make.’
Robert’s breathing became audible.
‘Paul,’ he said, away from the telephone, ‘get the papers out of the glove compartment.’
The line disconnected a moment later.
I went inside, put the kettle on, and telephoned Thomas.
‘They’re at the lake,’ I told him.
‘I expected they might be.
Has anyone threatened the tenant?’
‘Not directly.
But Paul says he has ownership documents.’
‘I’ll speak with the property manager and remind them of the dispute.
Don’t travel there to confront them.’
Then he said something unexpected.
‘Dorothy, I have another development.
Your son-in-law’s lender contacted our office after receiving notice of the title problem.’
My stomach tightened.
‘Lender?’
‘It appears Paul submitted a loan application listing the lake house as collateral.’
‘For how much?’
‘Three hundred and twenty thousand dollars.’
I sat down.
Arthur and I had spent decades saving to avoid debt.
Now my son-in-law was trying to borrow more than three hundred thousand dollars against the home we’d dreamed about.
‘The loan hasn’t been funded,’ Thomas continued.
‘The lender has suspended its review while it investigates the ownership claims.’
‘Why would he need that much money?’
‘We don’t know yet.
But there may be someone who can explain.’
He paused.
‘Margaret Whitaker called me this morning.’
I gripped the telephone.
‘Paul’s mother?’
‘Yes.
She wants to give a statement.’
For several seconds, I could hear only the faint hum of my refrigerator.
‘Thomas, did she know about the deed?’
‘She says she was misled about what she signed.
She wants to explain that under oath.’
I closed my eyes.
The mystery was becoming something uglier than an entitled family vacation.
It was becoming evidence of a deliberate plan.
Two days
