Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
We worked in silence for twenty minutes, the only sound the steady scrape of steel on plaster and the wet hiss of the spray bottle. The dark paper piled up on the floor around our feet, looking like heaps of wet coal.
“Emily Morrison stopped by my shop this morning,” Sarah said, not looking up from her corner. “She was packing her truck. She had her little girl in the cab, the one with the yellow hair.”
I stopped my scraper, leaving the blade flat against the wall. “Where are they going?”
“Her sister has a place in Gulf Breeze,” Sarah said. “She said she wanted to thank you again. For not letting Benson keep her deposit.”
“Benson did not have a choice,” I said. “Once the notary signed the affidavit about the logbook, his insurance company settled within forty-eight hours to keep it out of the papers.”
“Still,” Sarah said. “Most people would have just let the lawyers fight it out while she sat in limbo. She knows you saved her from losing everything.”
