It wasn't just that his signature was difficult to read.

She had seen inscrutable handwriting before. It was that it looked like some other word than his name. Most vague signatures were a large capital followed by a line of varying straightness or a nice friendly scribble. His was loops, squiggles, the random right angle that could have formed letters but didn't. It seemed to signify more than a name or a mark of acknowledgement. It was a mark, it did something other than just being on the paper.

Something dark, something sinister and out of the ordinary. He was clearly the most evil CPA she had ever encountered.

Possible plotlines for the novel I'm not writing:

An efficiency expert comes into the workplace. There is tension and comedy.

Clarinda has internal conflict over relationships, reaches enlightenment at spring break.

A blogger is murdered. A hard boiled detective investigates.

A guy lives in a house that somebody used to live in, perhaps the house is haunted or there's a hidden treasure in the attic.

Sheila pisses and moans about her stupid job. Harriet, a co-worker, is promoted to be her supervisor and fires her.