Arthur went rigid, his fingers tightening around his portfolio.

“What happened on Saturday?”

“Margaret and I got married in the hospital chapel,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

A teller at window three called out the next customer’s number, and Arthur turned his head toward the counter without shifting his feet.

I snapped my briefcase shut, turned on my heel, and walked out through the heavy glass doors into the autumn cold.

Wade was sitting in a low oak armchair in the County Auditor’s office on the second floor of the county courthouse when I pulled open the heavy frosted glass door.