Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
“Let’s see,” Beverly said, her voice dropping as she scanned the lines. “There are only three entries for June fourteenth.”
She turned the ledger toward me so I could see the columns.
“An auto title transfer for a Buick, a health care proxy for an elderly gentleman, and a construction lien on a commercial property on Davis Highway,” she said.
I scanned the rows twice, looking for my own signature, my father’s name, or any mention of Maggie Street.
“Is there any other book for that week?” I asked. “Maybe a supplemental log?”
“No,” Beverly said. “This is the complete, official log. If it is not in here, Clara Higgins did not notarize it.”
“But the stamp is on the photocopy of my deed transfer,” I said, pulling the page from my pocket and smoothing it on the wooden counter.
Beverly pulled a small magnifying glass from her desk drawer and leaned over my paper.
“This signature looks like yours, but the notary stamp is completely irregular,” she said.
“Irregular how?”
