T Is for Trespass

Wilcher. Mr. Larkin was called away and asked me to assist you.” She sat down in his place.
    Solana didn’t like doing business with women. She wanted to protest, but she held her tongue, anxious to get the transaction over with.
    “Let me just take a quick look to familiarize myself with your loan papers,” she said. She began to flip pages, reading much too carefully. Solana could see her eyes tracing every line of print. She looked up and smiled briefly at Solana. “I see you were appointed Mr. Vronsky’s conservator.”
    “That’s correct. His home is in desperate need of attention. The wiring’s old, the plumbing’s bad, and there’s no wheelchair ramp, which keeps him a virtual prisoner. He’s eighty-nine years old and unable to care for himself. I’m all he has.”
    “I understand. I met him when I first started working here, but we haven’t seen him for months.” She set the file on the desk. “Everything seems to be in order. This will be submitted to the court for approval and once that’s done, we’ll be funding the loan. It looks like we’ll need one more form filled out, if you don’t mind. I have a blank one here you can complete and return.”
    She reached in the drawer, checked through the files, and came up with a paper that she passed across the desk.
    Solana looked at it with irritation. “What’s this? I filled out all the forms Mr. Larkin asked for.”
    “It must have been an oversight. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
    “What’s the problem with the forms I gave you?”
    “There’s no problem. This is something new the government requires. It shouldn’t take long.”
    “I don’t have time for this. I thought everything was done. Mr. Larkin said all I had to do was stop by and he’d issue a check. That’s what he told me.”
    “Not without the court’s approval. That’s standard procedure. We need a judge’s okay.”
    “What are you saying, you doubt I’m entitled to the funds? You think the house doesn’t need work? You should come and see for yourself.”
    “It’s not that. Your plans for the house sound wonderful.”
    “The place is a fire hazard. If something isn’t done soon, Mr. Vronsky could burn to death in his bed. You can tell Mr. Larkin I said so. It will be on his head if anything happens. And yours, too.”
    “I apologize for any misunderstanding. Perhaps I can have a quick word with the bank manager and we can straighten this out. If you’ll excuse me…”
    The minute she’d moved away from her desk, Solana stood up, clutching her bag. She reached across the desk and picked up the manila folder containing all the paperwork. She moved toward the entrance, being careful to behave like someone with a legitimate purpose. Nearing the door, she looked down, holding up the file to conceal her features from the surveillance camera she knew was there. What was the matter with the woman? She hadn’t done anything to warrant suspicion. She’d been cooperative and agreeable, and this was how she was treated? She’d call later. She’d talk to Mr. Larkin and raise a fuss. If he insisted on her filling out the form, she’d do so, but she wanted him to know how annoyed she was. Maybe she’d take her business elsewhere. She’d mention that to him. Court approval could take a month and there was always the chance the transaction would come under scrutiny.
    She retrieved her car from the parking lot and made a beeline for home, too upset to worry about the paintings in the trunk. She noticed other drivers glancing at the word DEAD scratched on her driver’s-side door. Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea. The little hooligan she’d hired had done a good job, but now she was stuck with the damage. She might as well have been toting a banner, LOOK AT ME. I’M STRANGE . Her parking place was still available out in front of the house. She pulled in nose-first and then had to maneuver until the car was properly lined up with the curb.
    It wasn’t until she got out and locked the car door behind her that she realized something was wrong. She stood stock-still and searched the street, her gaze moving from house to house. She tracked the scene to the corner and then her gaze slid back. Henry’s station wagon was parked on the far side of the street, three doors down, a silver sunscreen against the windshield, blocking any view of the interior. Why had he taken it out of the garage and left it on the street?
    She watched the dappled