His dark blue sedan sat idling quietly under the oak tree near the garage.

He had a heavy tan folder in his lap, his eyes squinting against the bright afternoon sun bouncing off the lake.

“I brought the conservation easement documents from the county clerk,” Pembroke said, standing up as I climbed the porch steps.

“The county clerk stamped the conservation deed at eleven o’clock this morning,” he added.

“Arthur Vance reviewed the land boundaries yesterday.”

“Sixty acres,” I said.