The county surveyor’s white pickup was idling on the shoulder.

“He needs you to sign the boundary audit before noon,” Theo said.

I signed the surveyor’s white clipboard and handed him back his ballpoint pen.

“The title transfer will be recorded at the county courthouse by two o’clock,” the surveyor said, putting his truck in gear.

He drove off down the gravel road toward the highway, leaving a thin haze of dust hanging over the fence.

“We’ve got three hours before Nora’s legal papers show up,” Theo said.