“We’re both upset.
Let’s not make this ugly.”
Mr.
Palmer gave me a humorless look.
“She brought men to your house with a crowbar.”
The brass key still lay on my kitchen table.
I picked it up.
“What does this open?”
“A private safe in the basement of Joe’s Diner.”
“What’s inside?”
“A recording, financial records, and instructions Mrs.
Rhode ordered me not to view unless Vanessa disputed the transfer.”
Outside, Vanessa shouted, “That key is mine!”
The last trace of softness vanished from her voice.
“She knows about the safe,” I said.
Mr.
Palmer nodded.
“She knows enough to be frightened.”
The police arrived two minutes later.
Vanessa claimed she had come to discuss family property and that the crowbar belonged to one of the men’s construction business.
The officer looked at my unmarked front door, then at the tool in the man’s hand.
He told all three of them to leave.
Vanessa pointed at me from the sidewalk.
“You have no idea what you’re stealing.”
For the first time that morning, I answered her.
“I’m not stealing anything.”
Her eyes fixed on the folder against my chest.
“We’ll see what a judge says.”
She climbed into the black sedan and slammed the door.
Mr.
Palmer waited until the car disappeared before speaking.
“She will file for an emergency injunction today.
We should reach the diner before she does.”
Joe was standing behind the counter when we arrived, pouring coffee for three construction workers.
He took one look at Mr.
Palmer’s suit and the folder in my hand.
“Somebody die again?” he asked.
“Mrs.
Rhode owned this building,” I said.
Joe stopped pouring.
Coffee overflowed the mug and spread across the counter.
“What?”
Mr.
Palmer explained the deed in quiet, precise sentences.
Joe listened without interrupting, which was unusual enough to make the room feel wrong.
When the lawyer finished, Joe lowered himself onto a stool.
“I paid rent to a management company for twenty-two years,” he said.
“The company was owned by Mrs.
Rhode,” Mr.
Palmer replied.
Joe looked at me.
“And now I pay rent to you?”
The construction workers turned on their stools.
“I guess so,” I said.
Joe stared for another second, then grabbed a towel and wiped the spilled coffee.
