Free Killer Smile by Lisa Scottoline Page B

the second most recent deed. It was, and she sharpened the focus.
This Indenture
, began the first line again, and the date of the deed was November 2, 1962. She skimmed along to double-check the grantor,
LI-PAK
, to the grantee,
LEE SAM
, and the sale price was thirty-two thousand dollars. Two owners down.
    Mary moved the tray to view the next deed, and its letters came up, slightly more old-fashioned, in Gothic font.
This Indenture,
it began, and it was made April 18, 1952. She read across to the grantor,
JOSEPH and ANGELA LOPO
, and to the grantee,
LI-PAK.
The sale price was eighteen thousand dollars. Mary considered it; only three different owners, so far so good. She was getting closer to the time Amadeo owned it, going back. If there weren’t many more owners, it made it more likely that the laundry line was his. She hadn’t thought it would be this easy. Fun with double-checking!
    The next deed popped onto the screen, positively curlicue in its THIS INDENTURE opening, and the date of the transfer was November 28, 1946. Close, but no cigars. She read quickly to the grantor, JAMES and MARIA GIANCARLO, to the grantee, JOSEPH and ANGELA LOPO, the asking price was twelve thousand dollars. Fourth owner. Amadeo’s had to be next. With only four owners, that clothesline could have easily been his, still intact. And the next deed would tell her what had happened to his house after he died. A ghostly white square appeared on the screen, and Mary turned the knob to focus the image.
    MORTGAGE BANK OF PHILADELPHIA read old-fashioned letters, and underneath it, JAMES and MARIA GIANCARLO. So the house had been bought at foreclosure, and the date on the papers was August 18, 1942. Mary paused. A month after Amadeo had died, his house had been sold at a sheriff’s sale. She skimmed to the price;
five thousand, six hundred and twenty dollars
. She couldn’t help but feel a weight in her chest and moved the tray one document over.
    THIS INDENTURE read self-important letters, and the date of the deed was June 3, 1940. Mary skimmed ahead to see the grantor, and her heart stopped. JOSEPH GIORNO. She reread it, just to be sure. Joe Giorno, Amadeo’s lawyer? Founder of Giorno & Locaro, later Giorno & Cavuto, had sold Amadeo his house? She checked the grantee, and there it was: AMADEO and THERESA BRANDOLINI. The price of the house was
nine hundred and eighty-two dollars
.
    Mary read it again, shaking her head. Why hadn’t Frank mentioned this, either? Did he know? She went to the next deed, to see how Giorno had gotten the house in the first place. THIS INDENTURE, began the deed, and her eyes widened. The date of the deed was April 2, 1940 — less than two months before Giorno had sold the house to Amadeo. The grantee was indeed JOSEPH GIORNO, and the grantor was one GAETANO CELLI, a name that meant nothing to Mary. But her gaze slipped to the purchase price:
Two thousand and twenty-three dollars and no cents.
    Mary went back and checked the previous deed. She had remembered right. The purchase price for the Celli-Giorno deed was
more
than the Giorno-Brandolini deed — in other words, Joe Giorno had sold the house to Amadeo at a huge loss. She considered it. Why in the world would anybody buy a house for two grand, only to sell it two months later for
half the price
? Mary didn’t get it, especially since Giorno was allegedly one of the cheapest men on the planet. And it wasn’t as if history had intervened to affect housing prices; Pearl Harbor wouldn’t happen until December 7, 1941. This case kept getting stranger and stranger. Mary switched off the viewer, gathered her microfilm and money for copies, and packed up her bags.
    She had to get to work.
----
    ----

Eleven
     
    A troubled Mary charged off the elevator into the firm’s reception area, which looked friendlier than it had the night the furniture was trying to kill her. Chairs covered in taupe cloth curved around a buttery leather couch, on which clients who didn’t