“The deed was signed while Daniel was still listed as missing in action,” I said.
Clara stepped closer, her pruning shears pointed toward the ground. “You are letting an old ghost ruin what is left of your mind, Martha.”
“It was Daniel’s father’s land,” I said.
“Arthur Miller was a debtor who could not pay his taxes,” she said. “Richard did what any responsible banker would do to protect the county’s interests.”
She turned back to her bushes and snipped another branch, the dry leaves falling into her bucket. I stood there for a moment, the silence between us growing heavy, before I turned and walked back to my car.
By three o’clock, the sun had slipped behind the bank building on the town square. The Oakhaven Savings and Trust was a red brick building with tall arched windows that looked out over the courthouse lawn.
Inside, the lobby was quiet. The floor was made of gray Tennessee marble, and the air smelled of lemon polish and old ledger paper.
A young teller with a silver nametag that read Jenny looked up from her computer terminal as I approached the counter.
“Afternoon, Miss Martha,” she said. “What can we do for you today?”
