I opened the clear binder and looked at the first sleeve.

The original property survey map lay flat inside, its red ink township seals untouched by any moisture.

I snapped the binder shut, slid it into my canvas bag with the camera, and climbed back up the stairs into the silent kitchen.

By ten fifteen that morning I was sitting on Nora Hayes’s back porch with six bright blue presentation folders laid out across the wooden table.

Nora put down two glass mugs of coffee and took a pair of reading glasses out of her cardigan pocket.