Chapter 3 - THE SISTER WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
Her name was Ruth Greer.
Hattie had mentioned her once during our marriage.
A tragic older sister who died young overseas.
No details.
No photographs.
No grave Michael had ever visited.
Donna remembered a very different woman.
Ruth was thirty when Mom knew her.
Pregnant.
Rebellious.
And fighting her father, Warren Greer, over property their grandmother had placed in trust.
The land outside Sedona was part of it.
“Ruth wanted out,” Donna said. “She wanted to sell her interest and leave Arizona.”
“With the baby’s father?”
Donna nodded.
“Did Hattie object?”
“Everyone did.”
Then Ruth experienced what Greer family records called a psychiatric crisis.
She was placed in private treatment.
While she was there, paperwork began appearing.
Trust authorizations.
Payments.
Transfers.
Documents suggesting Ruth had surrendered control of her beneficial interest.
Donna worked as an accounts clerk.
She noticed signatures changing.
Dates that didn't fit.
“One check was supposedly authorized by Ruth on a day I knew she was hospitalized.”
“What did you do?”
“I asked Warren.”
“What happened?”
“He told me bookkeeping did not require curiosity.”
Then Ruth contacted her secretly.
She handed Donna the envelope.
“If they say I gave Harriet everything, this proves I didn’t.”
Inside was an old trust amendment.
Correspondence from an attorney.
And a notarized memorandum referencing Ruth's continuing beneficial interest in specified acreage.
Not a perfect deed.
Not instant proof of ownership.
But enough that I understood why a title insurer might care.
“What happened to Ruth?”
Donna's face tightened.
“Three days later, she disappeared.”
The Greers told people she left voluntarily.
Later, some relatives were told she had died overseas.
Donna could never find a death certificate.
She received threatening calls.
Her apartment was entered.
Documents disappeared.
So she moved.
Montana.
New surname.
New life.
“Why keep this?”
“Because Ruth asked me to.”
“For thirty-two years?”
“I was afraid.”
I almost said she should have gone to police.
Then I looked at the marks around her neck.
Hattie was nearly seventy and still willing to humiliate her physically over the envelope.
Fear suddenly seemed less irrational.
Evelyn examined the papers without touching them directly.
“We need them copied, preserved, and reviewed by counsel familiar with Arizona trust and title law.”
My professional instincts were finally catching up with my personal horror.
Then I asked the question that changed my marriage again.
“Did Michael know you had history with Hattie?”
Donna shook her head.
“I never told him.”
I believed her.
Evelyn looked at me.
“Did he ever ask about your mother’s past?”
I started to say no.
Then remembered.
Seven months earlier, Michael asked why Donna had changed surnames in her twenties.
I had answered casually:
“Mom reinvented herself.”
Another time he asked whether she kept old property documents from Montana.
There was no Montana property.
At the time, I laughed at him.
Now I didn't.
The timing bothered me.
Seven months ago.
May you like
One month before Hattie moved into my condo.
Supposedly because of heart problems.
