“No,” I said.

“The writing is perfectly clear.”

I took the matching parcel index map out of the bottom drawer and slid the heavy plastic overlay over the grid.

Parcel zero-four-seven-nine was the thin strip of empty gravel behind the old lumber yard two blocks away.

Frank had taken our street address from the public tax index, but his clerk had pasted the wrong parcel code onto the legal transfer schedule when he rushed to file the forged deed.

The recording clerk at the county counter had checked the street name, seen the notary stamp and accepted the filing without comparing the parcel code to the master survey book.