“First, the county courthouse.”
That got my attention immediately.
Once we were back on the highway, she opened her purse and handed me a folded bank statement. Three withdrawals had been circled in red. Twelve thousand dollars. Eighteen thousand. Twenty-five thousand.
All taken within six weeks.
“Your father has power of attorney,” she explained. “Temporary. I signed it after my surgery because I trusted him.”
My stomach tightened.
“He told me I was starting to become forgetful. He said I needed help handling the bills.” She stared out the window. “Then yesterday, I found this.”
“Did you confront him?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He said the money was being used to pay for my care.”
I glanced toward the lone suitcase sitting in the back seat.
Grandma let out a humorless laugh.
“At lunch today, your mother told me we were stopping somewhere that had a garden. They walked me into that facility, finished none of the paperwork, and vanished.”
My phone buzzed. Dad.
Grandma reached over and turned it face down.
“Courthouse first,” she repeated. “Then the bank. Then there’s one more place.”
“What place?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“My house.”
I swallowed hard. “Why?”
“Because if they’ve done what I think they’ve done, your parents didn’t just leave me there today.”
She reached inside her coat and pulled out a small envelope. Across the front, written in my grandfather’s handwriting, were two words: HOUSE DEED.
“I hid this before they came to pick me up,” she said. “I wanted to know whether they would go looking for it.”
Her voice dropped.
“They wanted me out of the way.”
