On my way out I spotted the assessor’s sedan parked at a meter with a county tag, and a young man inside drinking a soda, waiting out his lunch hour.

Nothing worth chasing.

I drove home.

Clare Vance showed up at four with a folder and the recorded deed.

She stood in the kitchen and read the numbers off of it.

“Book one eighteen, page four forty-two.

Recorded Tuesday at nine in the morning.” She snapped the folder shut.

“You own every board in this place.”