“That his crew starts clearing the lawn Monday, signed paper or not.” She pushed herself up out of the chair and got halfway to the window before she put a hand on the chair back and stood still a moment.

“Stairs get to me these days.

Don’t tell Megan.”

“You’ll want to talk to a lawyer before Monday,” she said.

“I don’t have a lawyer.”

“There’s a man on Oak Street, Arthur Vance.

He drew up your mother’s will.” She went to the phone table and came back with her tax bill, unfolded it, and laid it beside the deed.

The parcel numbers matched, digit for digit.