Outside the rain changed to hail. It clattered against the kitchen window, rising in crescendo as Kat stirred the boiling pasta. The steady tapping on the window grew louder, finally exploding in a cacophony of noise, drowning out everything except her thoughts. She was grateful to have made it home before the storm started.
Low clouds loomed in the late afternoon sky. Kat shivered, wondering if Jace was outside alone somewhere. He would never leave without contacting her. And why hadn’t the police called yet? The knot in her stomach grew larger. Was he hurt? Or worse, had he met a fate similar to Svensson? She didn’t dare think about it, yet she could think of nothing else.
Kat jumped as a loud bang broke into her thoughts. Probably branches from the strong winds outside. She turned the stove burner down and dumped the pasta in the colander to drain in the sink.
The banging started again. This time she realized it was the front door. Her heart skipped a beat as she spun and ran to the door. It might be Jace, or more likely, Hillary. Ready to offload Harry. But it wasn’t either of them.
Connor Whitehall stood at the threshold, water droplets beading on his London Fog raincoat. His hair was wet, though the front porch was just steps from the curb where his Volvo was parked.
Kat invited him in and hung up his coat in the hallway armoire that had fortunately escaped the fire. She motioned him to follow her into the kitchen. “I was just making dinner. Can you stay?”
Connor eyed the charred wainscoting and stairway banister.
“Afraid not. But there’s something I thought you should know as soon as possible.” Connor stared down at his shoes. “I did a title search on Harry’s house.”
“And?” Kat felt the blood drain from her face. It was already heavily mortgaged, and it was all Harry had left. “It’s sold? Hillary sold it?”
“Not exactly. Hillary’s on the deed. Harry transferred the title to her.” He studied Kat. “In essence, it is already sold. To Hillary. Harry’s no longer the owner.”
“That’s impossible! He would never do that.” She hadn’t expected such blatant fraud, even from Hillary. On the other hand, it explained a lot. Hillary’s recent appearances at Kat’s office, Harry’s missing lockbox with Harry’s house deed and other papers, and the missing key from behind Harry’s calendar. Hillary was manipulative all right, but Kat never dreamed she would go this far.
Connor dropped his briefcase on the kitchen table and extracted an envelope. He pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed them to her. “Have a look.”
Kat studied Harry’s signature, with its big loopy y and the slash across the t. It was his writing, all right. And it was dated two days ago.
It really was too late.
“He’s not in his right mind. He wouldn’t understand what he was signing. This can’t be legal.”
“Oh, I’m afraid it is. Without proof of his incompetence or any sort of coercion, it’s perfectly legal.”
“Wait a minute.” Kat held the signature up to the light. While it was Harry’s autograph, it was more in line with how he signed his name a year or two ago. The handwriting matched his documents and identification, but it didn’t resemble his shaky penmanship of late. She’d been barely able to decipher his handwriting at work for months. Same with the spidery scrawls in his checkbook, which had been almost illegible for the better part of a year. Even his renovation loan sported the same shaky scrawl. “This is too perfect. It has to be a forgery.”
“Forged? How can you be so sure?”
“Harry’s hand shakes when he writes. This signature is smooth and fluid, like he wrote a couple of years ago.” Hillary had stooped to a new low.
“You’re sure Harry wouldn’t sign this? Sometimes parents do add their children to the house to avoid probate fees and such. Did he ever mention doing that?”
“No, and he would never do that.” Especially not with Hillary. Despite his love for his daughter, even Harry knew of self-centered Hillary’s dark side.
“Well, I’m truly sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.” Connor Whitehall checked his watch. “I’d best be going.”
Kat followed him out to the hall and handed him his coat. “You’ve got to stop her.”
“First you’ve got to track Harry down, Kat. I can’t help until we get him assessed.” He turned and descended the front steps to his car.
It was dark now. The Volvo pulled away from the curb, brake lights reflecting in streaks on the wet asphalt. The gusting wind swayed the bare tree branches back and forth in front of the streetlight. It changed the light into intermittent flashes, like a Morse code signal. Kat shivered and closed the front door. It was already too late to save Harry financially. The only good thing about dementia was oblivion. You never had to know how big of a mess you were in. Eventually, you wouldn’t care either.