Page 64 of Eyes Like a Hurricane

I shake my head and look at James, who gives me a one-shoulder shrug. Attempting not to laugh, he bites his lip so hard that I’m afraid he will draw blood. He crosses his arms across his chest and looks up at the ceiling.

“You don’t have a computer you can look this up on? It would be much faster,” I explain, slowly losing what little patience I have.

“Oh, no,” she replies with a conspiratorial huff. “They have tried and tried to get me to use eBay for years now, but Dr. Ozman said that being on those technology devices is bad for your glaucoma. Now, I go to my doctor regularly, and he says my gonorrhea is under control, but my cataracts give me quite a lot of inflammation in my boob.”

I choke on some non-existent spit. “Why are you telling me about your STDs?”

She shakes her head defiantly. “I never had STDs, only ESP. It causes black bands to form under any jewelry I wear that is not twenty-four karat gold. But Sandra told me that if the black doesn’t go away after twenty-four hours, then maybe it’s caused by worms. That is why all my rings are rhodium plated. It protects the skin. Make sure you only buy marcasite stones because they are basically a cousin to the diamond. Don’t buy any cubic zirconia; it’s just glass.”

My eyes are wide. I’m completely lost. “I’m not sure who Sandra is, but maybe we could get her up here to help us look for the deed?”

“Oh, Sandra is on a cruise with her husband. Did you know her kids paid for them to go on the cruise? All expenses paid. My kids probably think I need to pay for my own cruises, but I don’t really want to go on a cruise. It reminds me too much of Tom Cruise. I wasn’t a huge fan of action movies. I prefer romantic comedies. Can you believe Brad left Jennifer?” she says in utter dismay.

I look at her with a horrified and shocked expression. My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out for a moment.

James scrubs his hand down his jaw. “Wasn’t that like twenty-five years ago? I think I was in kindergarten.”

I grunt, my patience dissolving by the minute. “Listen, Marilyn, I really need to see that deed. I have the parcel number.”

She nods slowly. “Okay, so the recording number for the Statutory Warranty Deed, I’m ready.”

Lifting her pencil, she looks up at me expectantly.

Shaking my head, I grumble, “No, I need to see a Deed of Trust, and I have the parcel number, not the recording number. Here, let me write it down, okay?”

I quickly reach down and grab the notepad and pencil and jot down what we need.

“Make yourselves comfortable. I will be back in a jiffy,” she says, then points toward the waiting area. “Feel free to look around, I just put out all the Fourth of July decorations yesterday. You are the first people to get to see them. I didn’t buy anything new this year, except for a couple things on the shelf above the doorway. Make sure you bend down because the bottom shelves of those bookcases have a great display, too.It's my specialty. They used to have reference books, but that seemed like a waste of perfectly good display space.”

She turns and shuffles toward the filing cabinets.

I plop down on a chair.

James snickers, “I didn’t realize they made Santa figurines dressed for the Fourth of July! I think we need to get you one for your office.”

I place my head in both my hands, giving him a middle-finger salute. He chuckles and proceeds to look around like this is some sort of museum or antique shop.

When she comes back down the hall twenty minutes later, James and I lumber over to the desk. She adjusts her glasses.

In a triumphant voice, she acts a little surprised as she announces, “I found the Deed of Trust you were looking for.”

I’m relieved, to say the least. We may get out of here before nightfall. This place is almost as bad as the DMV.

“So, we have a Deed of Trust to record in place of this one. The current owner is signing it over to us,” I explain in an authoritative tone, daring her to question me.

I take the Deed of Trust out of my briefcase and pass it to her, holding my breath. As she reaches over the top of Lachlan’s recorded Deed of Trust, I slip it off the counter and place it in my briefcase. Her gaze is so focused on the document I just gave her, she doesn’t notice my sleight of hand. She probably knows Lachlan’s family, so I want this final exchange to be quick.

To distract her, I say, “I just need a receipt that I brought this in for recording.”

“Alright, I can write you out a receipt of the transaction, but the actual recording won’t happen until Deb gets back in the office,” she says, placing the fraudulent deed on her desk.

“Not a problem,” I say smirking. “I just need the receipt for recording.”

Tapping my fingers against the desk, I watch as she actually writes a receipt by hand. I have a feeling this is about as legally binding as the falsified Deed of Trust I just gave her. Once she hands over the slip of paper, we thank her and head out the door hoping she doesn’t try to show us photos of her grandkids.

Holy hell, that is nintey minutes I will never get back.

Chapter 44

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