Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
“Let me know what you find,” Vance said, closing his folder. “But prepare yourself. If this is a forgery, it means your father and whoever helped him went to great lengths to make this look real.”
The Escambia County notary administration office was on the second floor of the historic courthouse, where the ceilings were high and the windows looked out over the gray waters of Pensacola Bay.
A clerk named Beverly, whose name tag was decorated with small stickers of yellow flowers, listened to my request and disappeared into a back room behind a heavy wooden door.
She returned five minutes later carrying a thick, blue leather-bound logbook with gold lettering on the spine.
“Clara Higgins retired last month,” Beverly said, laying the ledger on the counter between us. “She turned in all her official records to us, as required by the state.”
The pages smelled of old ink and dry paper.
“We need June fourteenth of this year,” I said.
Beverly flipped the heavy pages, her finger sliding down the neat columns of hand-written names, dates, and driver license numbers.
