Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
“That is a civil matter,” he said. “You will have to take that up with a court referee. Right now, if you go past that mailbox, I have to arrest you for trespassing.”
I looked past him to the front door of my bungalow. The brass key felt heavy in my pocket, completely useless.
“How long does this order last?” I asked.
“Twenty days,” Miller said. “Until the hearing on the twelfth of October.”
The date felt like a physical weight. That was the exact deadline Vance had given me to file the title injunction.
“The crabgrass has taken over,” Miller remarked, looking at the overgrown yard. “Your father used to keep a clean lawn.”
“He was supposed to be maintaining it while I was deployed,” I said.
“Arthur worked on my patrol car back in ninety-eight,” Miller said, shaking his head. “He was a good mechanic. It is a shame to see things go this way.”
“Thank you, Deputy,” I said.
He nodded once and walked back to his vehicle. I watched him pull away, leaving me on the sidewalk with a piece of paper that turned my own home into a crime scene.
