The Named Witnesses Refused To Lend Renata Their Signatures

Alma Dunn met us at Mara's office with a brown envelope clamped beneath her arm.

"I brought my calendar," she said. "And the receipt for my glasses. I was in Eau Claire on September nineteenth."

She had known Aunt through a community sewing group. In 2021, she had witnessed Aunt's real will at the lawyer's office.

She had never witnessed another.

"Renata called last night," Alma said. "She wanted me to remember a short visit at the loft."

Mara set down her pen.

"What did you tell her?"

"That my memory wasn't something she could order by phone."

Alma gave a sworn statement. She handed over her calendar, her receipt, and the phone message Renata had left afterward.

The message asked her to call back before she "made a family matter worse."

Mara saved it without turning it into more than it was.

"The denial matters," she told me. "The records support her. That message gives context. Each piece has its own job."

The second named witness was Wes Holt, who had repaired Aunt's roof. He also had signed in 2021. On the supposed new signing date, his work records placed him on a job near Superior.

He had kept fuel receipts because he charged mileage.

"Tell your cousin I didn't sell her my name," he said.

His sworn statement went into Mara's file beside Alma's.

Anders came in the next day to prepare for his testimony. He brought the journal in its wooden case and a list of the dates he had handled it.

"Will they ask why I didn't keep it at home?"

"Yes," Mara said. "Tell them about the roof."

"Will they ask if Elena ever forgot an entry?"

"Probably. Answer what you know."

He nodded.

"I won't make her perfect to make this ugly."

I had to look down at my hands.

I missed Aunt that way too. She had been sharp, impatient, and likely to call dinner a waste of good shop time. None of that made her signature free for someone else to use.

Under the court's order, Renata delivered the supposed original will to be examined. A document examiner looked at it, the 2021 original, and earlier scanned copies from Aunt's lawyer.

Her report arrived eleven days later.

The names on the new document were printed images. They weren't fresh pen strokes. The witness signatures matched the earlier scan, including tiny gaps in the same places.

So did Aunt's signature.

The seal image came from the old sworn statement too. The examiner's comparison sheets showed each finding separately.

I spread them across my table, leaving room between the pages.

At work, we sometimes lost a batch of young mussels even when the water looked clear. We had to check each recorded change. Heat. Flow. Feed. A clear surface could hide the wrong numbers.

Here, the numbers had started to show through.

Renata's lawyer sent a new explanation. She said Aunt had dictated changes and approved the reuse of the old signature page.

Mara read it aloud once.

"Can she do that?" I asked.

"We'll put the claim before the judge. A revised document still needs a valid signing. These witnesses say there wasn't one. The notary couldn't have been there."

"And Aunt can't answer."

"That is why the signing rules matter."

I went to the loft that Sunday with Celia's permission. I didn't touch the tagged cabinets. I sat on the step where Aunt used to sharpen pencils into an old soup can.

Renata found me there.

"You enjoy making me look like this?"

"I wanted to sit here for ten minutes."

"Everything I did was to close this estate. Nobody else would do the hard work."

"Where are the patterns?"

"Still with that."

"Yes. Still with twelve things that aren't here."

She put her phone in her bag and left.

I stayed until my ten minutes were up.

Before I left, I picked a dry curl of wood from my sleeve. Aunt's shavings still turned up in corners. I put it back in the soup can.

That week, Theo traced a monthly storage payment from Renata's business account. It was a different company from the one she had named in court.

The first company confirmed she had no current unit there.

Celia sent a formal demand for the correct address and arranged to seek another order. I asked whether we could just drive over and look.

"We secure access properly," she said. "Then there's no argument about who took what."

I put three pencil ticks beside the drawing numbers on my own inventory. I had checked the list against Aunt's schedule again.

Near closing time, Celia forwarded a notice the second storage company had sent Renata.

Unit 49 was overdue by $612.

The notice set a date for disposal of its contents: the following Tuesday.