shouldn’t.”
“When?”
She leaned closer.
“Three months ago.”
My mouth went dry.
“What changed?”
“I can’t tell from the public system.”
“Who modified it?”
“Recorder’s office.”
The farm suddenly felt very quiet.
We both heard the vehicle at the same time.
Gravel crunching outside.
I looked through the machine-barn window.
County SUV.
White.
Seal on the door.
It stopped beside Rachel’s car.
A woman stepped out.
Gray hair.
Cream-colored jacket.
Margaret Turner.
The county recorder.
She stood under the security light and looked directly toward the office.
Then she raised both hands where we could see them.
One hand held a thick envelope.
Rachel whispered, “Don’t open that door yet.”
Margaret walked closer.
She stopped outside.
“Jack?”
I didn’t answer.
“Jack, I know you’re in there.”
Rachel was already calling Ben.
Margaret pressed the envelope against the glass.
“I need to give you this before someone realizes I copied it.”
