Luke moved around her to look at it over my shoulder. “Is that a deed?”
“Yep.” Claire nodded an emphatic affirmative.
I traced a finger along the page, stopping as I saw the mark in the top right corner. Beneath a red stamp, marked, “RECEIVED,” was the faded scrawl of a signature.
“Whoa.” Luke’s voice rumbled in my ear.
Whoa was right. It was Moira Duluth’s signature. Neat, but firm, she’d signed it just weeks before the timeline Ozzie established for her disappearance. June 1992.
But I was confused. How did her signature on a document constitute motive?
I voiced that to Claire.
She held up a finger. “So, I was pulling historical records for that waterfront listing I told you about last month. The one listed dirt cheap that I was looking at buying as an investment property?”
I nodded, remembering the conversation we had one day as part of a larger conversation about my café. It was Claire’s first foray into investment real estate, and she’d been excited. As excited as I was to expand my coffeeshop.
“Well, while digging I found this.” She licked a finger and leafed through the papers, pulling out one to slap it down on the counter. “Here’s the finalized deed, filed later that same month. Different handwriting, same name—Moira’s. The property transferred cleanly.”
“Why would there be two copies of the deed signed weeks apart?” Luke asked. “The first one should have been the one processed. Unless there was an error and it had to be amended?”
“Nope. The original is a simple transfer from one person to another. In this case, from a woman named Edna Myers to another woman named Sarah Cole.” She pointed at the photocopy of the original I held.
“But in this one”—she tapped the second deed—“it’s transferring from Edna Myers to none other than Walter Shuman.”
“Holy crap,” I breathed. My mind whirled with the implications that brought up, but one question stuck out. “But how is that possible? Wouldn’t Edna notice that the property didn’t go to Sarah Cole? Wouldn’t Sarah?”
Claire’s finger popped up again. “Not if Edna died between the time the original and the forgery were signed.”
“No way.” My eyes widened. “Did she?”
“Yep. And I don’t think Sarah made a stink about it, because I don’t think she knew. I did more digging into the two women. Edna was Walter’s aunt on his mother’s side. I also found documentation that Sarah was a home-health aide. I think Edna intended to leave the property to Sarah as a thank you.”
“But Walter got greedy and snatched it out from under her.” I set the paper down on the counter and crossed my arms, completely disgusted. “I can’t say I’m surprised after the way he tried to squeeze every last penny out of me in that sale.”
“I’m honestly surprised he sold the store to you,” Luke said.
I looked up at him. “Why?”
“Moira Duluth signed off on the original transfer. If she caught someone altering the deed, that’s a damn good motive for murder. With Walter’s name on the forgery, it makes sense why she ended up inside the wall in his antique store. My question is why he sold the building and didn’t let it languish, unoccupied, until he died. I mean, why risk getting caught? He knew what you wanted to do, right?”
I chewed on the corner of my mouth, my gaze moving from his to Claire’s, then back. “Mostly, yeah. That’s a good point.”
“It’s not proof he did it, but it’s damn close,” Claire said. She rubbed her temple. “Ozzie needs to hurry and wrap up his case for the night so he can come home and look at all this.”
A laugh bubbled up, and I couldn’t hold back the tiny chuckle that escaped. “He’s going to hate you. The man worked all day, finally gets home, probably ready to kick off his shoes and veg for a bit before bed, and you’re going to hit him with this stuff.”
Claire groaned. “I know. Maybe I should wait until morning.”
Luke arched an eyebrow. “Do you think you can play it cool until morning? It’s not like you can avoid him. You two live together.”
Pursing her lips, Claire shook her head. “No. He’ll be able to see something’s wrong the moment he steps in the door. I can’t lie to the man. Not well.”
“Here.” I stepped away from the counter to the crock pot by the stove and lifted the lid. “You can hit him with this to soften the blow.” Reaching into the cupboard in front of me, I removed a plastic container, then ladled a healthy portion of elk stew into it.
“Oh, bless you. Yes, that’ll work.”
Luke chuckled. “I’d disagree, but it’s definitely some of the best stew I’ve ever had, so…”
