At nine thirty the next morning, Nora Hayes spread three blue paper maps across her kitchen table.

A pile of yellowed township ledger books sat next to a tall glass of ice water.

“The county land recorder overlooked this thirty years ago,” Nora said.

She pointed her silver glasses case at a bright red ink line running along the north edge of the property plat.

“It’s a certified copy of the original 1984 township easement deed.”

I leaned over the wooden table and tapped my left thumbnail against my knuckles as I studied the boundary figures.

The original township map showed my lot running four feet past the lilac bushes.