The county auditor, a white-haired man named Harold Vance, sat behind a metal desk crowded with tax maps, land plat registers, and legal binders.

“Pastor Tom,” Harold said, getting up to shake my hand over the desk.

“Wade was just walking me through the filings on parcel forty-two.”

“The church board is holding a vote to ratify the land deal at two o’clock,” I said, leaning on the wooden rail by his desk.

Harold picked up the certified marriage certificate Wade had set out on the green leather blotter.

He slid his reading glasses down his nose and studied the dark red county seal stamped at the foot of the page.