“Something along those lines.”

“Want a danish with that?

It’s on the house.”

“No, thanks.” I tucked the papers back into the folder.

“I need to go look up some public records.”

The library opened at ten, and I was sitting at the row of computers by ten after.

The volunteer at the genealogy desk steered me toward the county property tax database, and I typed my father’s name into the search box with one hand while Toby wriggled against my shoulder.

The quitclaim deed showed up on the second page of results.