Dad.
Grandma reached over and turned it face down on the console.
“Courthouse first,” she repeated. “Then the bank. Then there’s one more place.”
“What place?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“My house.”
I swallowed hard.
“Why?”
“Because if they’ve done what I think they’ve done, your parents didn’t just leave me there today.”
She reached inside her coat and pulled out a small envelope.
Across the front, written in my grandfather’s handwriting, were two words:
HOUSE DEED.
“I hid this before they came to pick me up,” she said. “I wanted to know whether they would go looking for it.”
Her voice dropped.
“They wanted me out of the way.”
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PART 2
Grandma kept the envelope pressed against her coat as we pulled into the county courthouse parking lot.
For the first time since I’d picked her up, she hesitated before opening the door.
Inside, the clerk examined the house deed, then looked strangely at Grandma before turning toward her computer.
Her fingers stopped over the keyboard.
“Mrs. Sterling, has anyone asked you to sign another property document recently?”
Grandma’s eyes shifted toward me.
“No,” she said quietly. “But my son brought papers to my house last week.”
The clerk’s expression changed.
