Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN UPSTAIRS
Ryan stopped trying to stand.
Brooks picked up the wallet.
“Yours?”
Ryan looked at it.
“No.”
Brooks opened it.
Driver's license.
RYAN MATTHEW COLE
Same face.
Same man kneeling in Eleanor's grass.
Brooks closed the wallet.
“Try again.”
Ryan looked toward the second-floor window.
“I dropped it.”
“In a room inside this house?”
“I was checking the property.”
Eleanor stared.
“You went inside my house?”
Ryan stood despite Brooks telling him to stay where he was.
“I had access.”
“From who?”
“The new owner.”
“There is no new owner.”
Ryan pointed toward the house.
“That's not what my work order says.”
Brooks put the wallet into a clear evidence pouch from his patrol bag.
“Right now, your work order can wait.”
He looked upward.
“Ma'am inside the house?”
Silence.
“Police. Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Are you able to come downstairs?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Eleanor turned toward her front door.
It was open.
She had left it open when she carried the first bag inside.
That meant the woman could have entered after her.
Or before.
Eleanor's hand tightened around her cane.
“Who is in my house?”
Footsteps sounded overhead.
Slow.
Then on the staircase.
A woman appeared halfway down.
Late forties.
Dark jeans.
Gray cardigan.
Dust on one shoulder.
She carried an old manila folder beneath one arm.
Eleanor stared.
The woman's hair was shorter now.
More gray around the temples.
Her face had changed in the way everyone's does after fifteen years.
The eyes had not.
Eleanor whispered:
“Rachel.”
Ryan looked between them.
Brooks did too.
Rachel Hayes stopped on the staircase.
“Hello, Eleanor.”
Eleanor's face hardened.
“What are you doing here?”
Rachel looked at the wallet in Brooks's hand.
“Apparently interrupting landscaping.”
“Don't.”
“I came last night.”
“You came into my house without asking.”
“Yes.”
“You haven't spoken to me in fourteen years.”
“Eleven.”
Eleanor frowned.
Rachel corrected:
“Eleven years, seven months.”
That sounded like something Rachel would know.
Brooks raised one hand.
“I'm going to need everybody to slow down.”
He looked at Rachel.
“Full name?”
“Rachel Hayes.”
“Relation to Ms. Hayes?”
Rachel looked at Eleanor.
“Stepdaughter.”
Eleanor's jaw tightened.
Rachel continued.
“My father was Thomas Hayes.”
Brooks nodded.
“Do you live here?”
“No.”
“Do you have permission to be here?”
Rachel hesitated.
“No.”
Good.
No convenient lie.
“I used an old key.”
Eleanor stared.
“You still had one?”
Rachel ignored that.
Brooks asked:
“Why did you come?”
Rachel held up the folder.
“Because somebody filed paperwork to sell this house.”
Eleanor looked at her.
“What paperwork?”
Rachel stepped off the staircase.
“A title alert hit my email six days ago.”
Ryan muttered:
“I told you.”
Brooks turned sharply.
“You're done participating for now.”
Ryan closed his mouth.
Rachel walked into the foyer.
“This address was attached to a pending purchase contract.”
Eleanor looked confused.
“Pending?”
“Yes.”
“Not sold.”
“Not yet.”
Ryan's expression changed slightly.
Brooks noticed.
Rachel continued.
“The closing lawyer contacted me three years ago about an old property interest. I ignored it.”
Eleanor stared.
“Why?”
“Because every time this family contacts me, somebody wants a signature.”
That landed.
Then Rachel looked toward the upstairs room.
“I came to see whether Dad's old title folder was still here.”
“You broke into my house.”
“I used a key.”
“That is not better.”
“No.”
Rachel accepted it.
Then she looked at Ryan.
“He was inside yesterday afternoon.”
Ryan shook his head.
“I was checking vacancy.”
Rachel continued.
“He opened drawers.”
“I did not.”
“You opened the closet.”
“To check whether someone was living there.”
“You opened my father's desk.”
Ryan's face tightened.
Brooks turned toward him.
“You told me you dropped your wallet.”
“I did.”
“While opening furniture inside an occupied residence?”
Ryan looked toward his truck.
Bad choice.
Brooks moved slightly between him and the sidewalk.
“Don't go anywhere.”
Then Eleanor looked at Rachel's folder.
“What exactly did you find?”
Rachel opened it.
One photocopied county filing sat on top.
Not a deed.
A memorandum of contract.
Buyer:
NorthBridge Residential Partners LLC
Seller:
Eleanor Hayes
Eleanor stared.
“I never signed that.”
Rachel turned the page.
The seller signature had been executed by someone else.
Eleanor Hayes, by Michael Hayes, Attorney-in-Fact
Eleanor went completely still.
Michael.
Her son.
May you like
Rachel looked at her.
“Apparently somebody thinks he can sell it for you.”
