I set the certified copy of the county ledger neatly in the center divider and snapped the brass locks closed.

The oak door of the officers’ auxiliary room clicked shut behind me at one o’clock exactly.

The room had the smell of floor wax and roasted coffee.

On each of the twelve round tables, folded linen napkins that cost eighteen dollars a set lay beside silver dessert forks and white china plates.

My mother, Margaret, stood next to the centerpiece table in a tailored silk outfit, smoothing her neck scarf over and over as she set out small brass place card holders.

My aunt Linda came out from behind the dessert bar carrying a polished metal pitcher.