The yellow leaves dropped one at a time into the grass, settling softly along the gravel edge of the driveway.

Grace smoothed her linen apron over her lap with both hands while she watched the street.

“The county recorder mailed the official ledger back this morning,” I told her.

“Evelyn says the title is as clean as the day your mother bought the lot,” Grace said.

She leaned over and clinked the rim of her tea jar against mine.

“There was a locked gate across the driveway at Frank’s office on Main Street when I drove by at noon,” she added.

“Evelyn told me the state auditor showed up yesterday morning,” I said.