He was carrying a thick manila envelope tied with red string.

“This came off the court printer half an hour ago,” Howard said, passing the heavy folder through the car window to me.

“The state vital statistics registry in Lansing updated their main computer record at noon.”

I opened my handbag and took out my checkbook and a black ballpoint pen.

“What do I owe you for the last court filing and your extra hours, Howard?” I asked.

Howard raised one big, liver-spotted hand and slowly shook his head.