I nodded. “A chattel mortgage is basically the same thing. For example, it looks like this one is on a threshing machine.” I handed it to her.
She shook her head and gestured for me to put the document back. “I probably wouldn’t understand it anyway.”
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“To be honest, I have no idea. But I bet we’ll know when we find it.”
I let out a giggle. This was kind of fun, like a game, looking for clues. I finished going through my stack of documents and reached for another. “What do you have in your stack?” I asked.
“Some old census documents, it looks like, from when the Steels first came over here from England several generations ago. A couple of birth certificates for relatives I’ve never heard of.” She kept going. “Are these more of those chattel mortgages you were talking about?” She handed me some papers.
“Yep,” I said. “We’ve got to be getting to the bottom of this box soon.”
Marj let out a sigh. “Is it worth going through these boxes? This is all ancient history.”
“Yeah, you could be right.” But something in me wanted to continue. “Maybe we should look at one more box.”
“Okay.” Marj put the lid on the first box. “I’ll re-tape this later.” She opened the door to the crawl space, pulled out the second box, and opened it.
She handed me a stack of files and took a stack for herself. I opened my first file, and lo and behold. “I think this is your dad’s birth certificate,” I said, handing her a document.
“Yeah. Bradford Raymond Steel. I wonder why his birth certificate has been boxed up with all this other historical stuff?”
“I think what that means is that this is all historical stuff,” I said. “We may have to go through all these boxes after all.”
“You’re probably right.”
I kept shuffling through the folder. “Hey, I have your parents’ marriage certificate. Bradford Raymond Steel to Daphne Kay Wade.”
“Wade?” Marj bit her lip. “Are you sure?”
I handed it to her. “Pretty sure.”
She perused the document. “I’m not sure what this means, but I was always told that my mother’s maiden name was Warren. In fact, Ryan’s middle name is Warren, after my mom’s maiden name.”
I didn’t see how this could have any relation to Talon, but it was definitely suspicious. “We should probably ask Jonah about it.”
Marj nodded. “Absolutely. If they lied to me about this, they could easily be lying about other things.”
“Hey, look,” I said, leafing through the rest of the papers. “Here’s Jonah’s birth certificate. And Talon’s and Ryan’s. And look, here’s yours, Marj.” I glanced at the document. “How come you never told me your first name is Angela?”
“What?” She grabbed the document from me.
“Be careful. These are old documents.”
I looked through the others. Jonah Bradford Steel. Ryan Warren Steel. Talon John Steel, all born to Bradford Raymond Steel and Daphne Kay Steel, née Wade.
Talon John. Such a strong rugged name for a strong rugged man.
“This is totally bizarre, Jade. My name is not Angela. They always told me my name was Marjorie Steel, no middle name.”
“Who always told you that?”
“My dad, when he was alive. And I never asked my brothers, but I assume they would tell me the same thing.”
That was odd. “Maybe they just decided to call you Marjorie.”
“Well, sure, I could understand that, but why wouldn’t they tell me that I went by my middle name? My signature should be A. Marjorie Steel. Not just Marjorie Steel. And come to think of it, all three of my brothers have middle names. Why would they decide not to give me one? It doesn’t make sense.” She stood. “Come on.”
“What?” Talon’s birth certificate fascinated me, and I wasn’t quite ready to stop looking at.
“We’re going to go see Joe. I want some answers. And I want them now.”
I glanced at my wristwatch. “It’s after nine o’clock.”
“I don’t care. I just found out my name is Angela. I suppose it’s not that big of a deal, but why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Okay. You go ahead, and I’ll keep looking through these documents.”
“No, I want you to go with me. Please? He’ll be less likely to get all big brother on me if you’re there.”
I let out a laugh. “Okay, good point.” I closed my folder, placed it back in the box, and stood, brushing off my knees again. “You’re driving.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Talon
The boy didn’t wear pants. They had been taken away from him the first day. He wore only his T-shirt. Even though it was summer, he was cold most of the time in the dank concrete basement. He spent most days and nights wrapped in the dirty blanket they’d given him.
Hot breath on the back of his neck—that’s what the boy hated the most. The rank stench of stale cigars and liquor. They’d always been drinking when they came. Sometimes they drank during.