Clare wrote out the receipt and tore it off her pad.

She took the affidavit out of the folder and read it one more time in the last of the daylight, and something in her jaw hardened.

“Your uncle picked the wrong granddaughter to go up against, Warrant Officer.” She pointed the pen at me.

“Monday, nine sharp, at the clerk’s counter.

Bring me that pink slip and a name from that front desk.”

She tucked the signed affidavit into the back pocket of her briefcase and shut it, and the brass clasp snapped down with a click that carried all the way down the driveway.