The Flower Shop Notary
Chapter 07 - The Flower Shop Notary
Martha Keene lived in a yellow bungalow with purple pansies in the window boxes and a ceramic goose on the porch wearing a rain bonnet.
Ava stood on the sidewalk looking at that goose while Marjorie rang the bell, and for one strange second the whole day felt impossible. A courtroom full of accusations. A video of her father dying. A hidden deed tucked behind medals. And now this cheerful porch in Worthington where wind chimes tinkled like the world had not cracked open.
Commander Carney waited by the curb beside Marjorie's sensible sedan. He had offered to drive. Marjorie had said he looked too much like a federal investigation and might frighten an elderly witness.
Carney had accepted that with dignity.
No one answered the bell.
Marjorie rang again.
Ava looked at the flower beds. Freshly watered. A blue watering can tipped near the steps. Mail still in the box.
"She's home," Ava said.
Marjorie knocked harder. "Ms. Keene? Martha? It's Marjorie Bell. I'm an attorney representing Ava Wright. We need to speak with you about Frank Wright's deed."
A sound came from inside.
Not footsteps.
Something falling.
Ava and Marjorie looked at each other.
Carney was already halfway up the walk.
"Martha?" Ava called.
A thin voice answered from beyond the door. "Back here. Door's open."
They found Martha Keene in the kitchen, sitting in a chair beside a small round table scattered with envelopes, seed catalogs, and one overturned mug of tea. She was seventy-eight, narrow as a willow switch, with white hair pinned at the back of her head and eyes bright enough to cut thread.
She looked at Ava's uniform and nodded once.
"Frank said you'd come when Elaine ran out of manners."
Ava gripped the back of a chair.
Marjorie introduced herself properly while Carney checked the back door without making a show of it. Martha waved him off.
"I'm not hurt," she said. "Just furious. Sit down before you all loom me to death."
Ava sat.
Martha picked up a torn envelope from the table. "Curtis came by yesterday evening. Brought grocery-store carnations like that would fool me. Said his mother wanted to make peace. Then he asked if Frank ever left papers with me."
"What did you say?" Marjorie asked.
"I said Frank left half his tomato plants with me one summer and none survived."
Carney coughed once into his hand. It might have been a laugh.
Martha continued, "Curtis didn't like that. He poked around with his eyes. Asked to use my bathroom. I told him no because I was old, not stupid. After he left, I checked my desk. Someone had tried the lock."
Ava felt heat move up her neck.
"Do you have a copy of the deed?"
Martha pointed toward a flour tin on the counter. "Bottom. Wrapped in wax paper under the cookie cutters. Elaine hasn't baked since 1989, so I figured it was safe."
Marjorie retrieved the packet.
Inside was not only a copy of the deed, but a notarization log, an affidavit from Frank, and a photograph of Frank and Martha standing beside a small sign that read FUTURE HOME OF WRIGHT VETERANS HOUSE.
Ava touched the photograph gently.
Her father wore a flannel shirt and that bashful half-smile he got when proud of something he didn't want to brag about.
"He never showed me this," she said.
"He planned to," Martha replied. "Then he got scared. Frank was a good man in many ways, but he let that woman set the weather in his house for too long. Good men can still be cowards at home. Took him years to admit it."
The truth of that hurt and healed in the same breath.
Marjorie reviewed the affidavit. "This states Frank believed Elaine and Curtis might attempt to challenge the trust, and that he had reason to suspect prior financial misconduct."
"He wrote it in my back room," Martha said. "Cried into a napkin with daisies on it. Men always think women don't notice when they cry if they turn toward the window."
Ava looked down.
Martha's voice softened. "He loved you, honey. Badly sometimes. Late sometimes. But he did."
Ava nodded because words had become dangerous.
Carney returned from the back hallway. "There are fresh scratches on the rear lock."
Martha's eyes narrowed. "That little weasel."
Marjorie placed the documents into a folder. "Ms. Keene, I need you in court tomorrow."
"I already laid out my navy dress."
Ava looked up. "You knew?"
Martha pointed to the torn envelope. "I got a note last week. No return address. Said if Elaine Wright came asking, I should call Marjorie Bell. Also said Ava would need someone who remembered before the family edited the story."
Ava's skin prickled. "Who sent it?"
Martha reached for the envelope and handed it over.
The handwriting was blocky. Masculine. Unfamiliar.
Inside was a single page.
Martha,
Frank trusted you because you hated Elaine enough to be honest, but not enough to lie. If they come for the deed, call Bell. Ava has carried enough.
A friend of Frank's
Ava read the last line twice.
"A friend of Frank's," she whispered.
Marjorie took a photo of the note. "Could be the same person texting you."
"Could be bait," Carney said.
Martha snorted. "Everything is bait if you're hungry enough. Doesn't mean the fish shouldn't look."
Ava liked her immediately.
They arranged for Martha to stay overnight with her niece. Carney insisted on checking the house before they left. Martha pretended to be annoyed and then packed three pill bottles, a toothbrush, and a framed picture of a black Labrador who had apparently been dead for fifteen years but still needed to travel.
As they stepped onto the porch, a black SUV slowed at the curb.
For a moment no one moved.
The passenger window lowered.
Curtis stared at them from inside, his face shiny with sweat.
Elaine sat beside him.
Behind the wheel was a man Ava did not recognize.
Curtis saw the folder in Marjorie's hand.
Elaine saw Martha.
The SUV pulled away too fast, tires chirping against the quiet street.
Carney memorized the plate aloud.
Ava watched the vehicle turn the corner.
Martha, standing beside her with a purse the size of a suitcase, said, "Well. That's not the man Curtis came with yesterday."
May you like
Marjorie turned sharply. "What man?"
Martha adjusted her rain bonnet-wearing goose with one bony finger and said, "The one who told Curtis the old account had to be emptied before Friday."
