He was sixty or older with gray hair parted straight down the middle and a gray suit that smelled faintly of mothballs.
“Sit down,” he said, turning a page on his yellow legal pad.
I set my purse on my knees and kept my coat buttoned against the draft from the window.
“I need to know what a retainer costs for looking into old bank transfers,” I said.
Mr. Vance pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at me over the rims.
“Depends entirely on what kind of transfers you are talking about,” he said.
“Regular monthly payments from an estate account to a private party in another state,” I said.
He picked up a blue pen and tapped it twice against the desk.
“That requires a formal records request and a court order if the bank refuses to cooperate,” he said.
“Will you file the request for me today?” I asked.
Mr. Vance pulled a printed form from a stack on his left and slid it across the mahogany surface.
“Fill out the top half with the name of the deceased and your relation to the party,” he said.
I took the pen from the groove in his blotter and wrote my father’s full name on the blank line.
“These bank records show monthly deposits long after the funeral,” I said.
Mr. Vance stopped writing and looked at the ink drying on the paper.
“If that is true, you are looking at probate fraud,” he said.
“Can you subpoena the receiving bank by Friday?” I asked.
“Not without a signed affidavit from someone who had legal standing at the time,” he said.
“My sister was supposed to be the co-beneficiary,” I said.
Mr. Vance frowned and adjusted his tie.
“The probate file listed no siblings except you,” he said.
“That is what the police report said too,” I said.
He leaned back in his leather chair and the springs groaned.
“People file incorrect paperwork when they want an estate closed quickly,” he said.
“This wasn’t an accident,” I said.
“Prove it with cancelled checks or signatures,” he said.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the manila folder with the photocopies.
“These bank records show monthly deposits long after the funeral,” I said again, setting them between us.
Mr. Vance put on a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses and pulled the pages toward his chest.
“Where did you get these?” he asked.
“My mother left the drawer unlocked,” I said.
He scanned the rows of numbers with a yellow highlighter in his right hand.
“These routing numbers belong to a branch in Oelwein,” he said.
“That is four hours north,” I said.
“People move north when they want to disappear,” he said.
“She didn’t disappear by choice,” I said.
Mr. Vance looked up from the paper and stared at the wall behind my left shoulder.
“The signature on this withdrawal slip doesn’t match your father’s usual handwriting,” he said.
“Whose signature is on the dental form,” I said, repeating the question that had kept me awake since Tuesday.
“You’ll need a handwriting expert for that,” he said.
“How much will that cost?” I asked.
“Six hundred dollars for a preliminary review,” he said.
I opened my wallet and counted out three hundred-dollar bills onto his desk.
“Can you start with that?” I asked.
Mr. Vance looked at the money, then at my face, and slowly slid the bills under his blotter.
“Come back Thursday morning,” he said.
I stood up and left the office without saying goodbye, walking out into the sharp morning wind that smelled of wet asphalt.
The records clerk laid the manila folder on the counter and tapped the corner to square the papers inside.
“That will be four dollars for the copying fee,” she said.
I set four single dollar bills on the laminate surface one by one.
“Did you find the section from ten years ago,” I asked.
“Everything on that reel is indexed by date,” she said, sliding the receipt toward me.
I folded the paper in half and tucked it into my coat pocket.
The coffee shop on Fourth Street smelled of roasted chicory and wet wool coats.
Clara sat by the window with a ceramic mug between her hands.
“I did not expect you to call back so fast,” she said.
“The office was empty this morning,” I said.
I pulled out the chair across from her and set my bag on the floor.
“You look tired,” she said.
“I have not slept much since Tuesday,” I said.
“Nobody sleeps when they start looking backward,” she said.
She wore a gray wool sweater with small pearl buttons down the front.
“Why did you contact the dentist using your old name,” I asked.
“The records were still under that file,” she said.
“You could have used any name in the city,” I said.
“My dental chart was never updated after the move,” she said.
“What move,” I said.
“To the house on Elm Street,” she said.
“We never lived on Elm Street,” I said.
Clara looked down at her cup and turned the silver ring on her right hand twice.
“Father bought that house the summer before the fire,” she said.
“Father did not own any property except the hardware store,” I said.
“He owned three rental properties under a different corporation,” she said.
“How do you know about those,” I said.
“I lived in the back unit for the first six months,” she said.
“While we were sitting in the living room planning the funeral,” I said.
“Mother brought groceries on Thursday nights,” she said.
“Every Thursday,” I said.
“Except when it snowed heavily,” she said.
“You let them bury an empty casket,” I said.
“The police report had to match the insurance claim,” she said.
“Who signed the insurance papers,” I said.
Clara did not answer and reached for her tea spoon.
“Was it Arthur from the garage,” I said.
“Arthur only drove the truck,” she said.
“What truck,” I said.
“The one that carried the boxes to the storage facility,” she said.
“The storage facility behind the mill,” I said.
“Number forty-two,” she said.
“Is that where the family photo albums went,” I said.
“Everything from the attic went into unit forty-two,” she said.
“Mother told me the attic roof leaked and ruined the boxes,” I said.
“Mother never went into the attic after nineteen ninety-four,” she said.
“How much did they pay the local police chief,” I said.
“I do not know the exact figure,” she said.
“Was it more than ten thousand dollars,” I said.
“It was enough to settle the mortgage on the store,” she said.
“Our store,” I said.
“The hardware store,” she said.
“They sold it two years ago,” I said.
“They sold it to pay the taxes on the second property,” she said.
“Whose name is on the deed for the second property,” I said.
“A lawyer in the county seat,” she said.
“What is his name,” I said.
“Mr. Vance,” she said.
“The same Mr. Vance who handled the estate,” I said.
“He handled everything for forty years,” she said.
“Why did you come back now,” I said.
“My lease on the coast ended in August,” she said.
“And you decided a dental office in our old neighborhood was safe,” I said.
“I needed the bridge fixed before the cold weather started,” she said.
“You could have gone to any dentist in Chicago,” I said.
“My records were here,” she said.
“That is not an answer,” I said.
“It is the only one I have,” she said.
She picked up her tea cup and took a slow sip.
“You are still hiding something about the night of the fire,” I said.
“The fire was small,” she said.
“The newspaper said the garage burned to the ground,” I said.
“The garage burned,” she said.
“And the car,” I said.
“The car was pushed into the ravine three hours before the smoke started,” she said.
“Who pushed it,” I said.
“Arthur and our father,” she said.
“I saw the burnt metal in the driveway,” I said.
“They towed a different chassis from the salvage yard at dawn,” she said.
“Whose chassis was it,” I said.
“An old Ford from nineteen eighty-nine,” she said.
“The license plates matched our station wagon,” I said.
“Father kept three spare sets of plates in the cellar,” she said.
“Why did you leave that night instead of the next morning,” I said.
“Father said the bank manager was coming by at eight,” she said.
“What did the bank manager have to do with us,” I said.
“The loans were coming due,” she said.
“Which loans,” I said.
“The ones for the expansion,” she said.
“We never expanded the store,” I said.
“Not the store,” she said.
“Then what,” I said.
“The land behind the river,” she said.
“Nobody owns that land,” I said.
“The family trust bought it during the drought,” she said.
“With whose money,” I said.
“The inheritance from our grandmother,” she said.
“Grandmother left her money to the church,” I said.
“The will was changed in nineteen ninety-eight,” she said.
“Who witnessed the change,” I said.
“Mr. Vance and the doctor,” she said.
“Which doctor,” I said.
“Dr. Henderson from the clinic on Main Street,” she said.
“He retired ten years ago,” I said.
“He lives in the yellow house by the railroad tracks now,” she said.
“Does he still practice medicine,” I said.
“He grows tomatoes and keeps bees,” she said.
“Did he know about the crash report,” I said.
“He signed the death certificate,” she said.
