The white county sedan pulled up along the road, and Wayne Miller stepped out wearing a windbreaker over a sweatshirt with his clipboard tucked under his arm.

He looked tired and slightly anxious as he walked up the gravel driveway.

“Good morning,” Wayne greeted me.

“I am here as your father requested.”

“Would you like some warm coffee?” I offered.

“Yes, please,” he accepted gratefully, taking a filled paper cup with both hands.

“Where is your father?”

I pointed out into the mist, where a lone figure was visible among the bean rows.