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He laughed once, silently—I felt it more than heard it.

“Betty opens at eight, and she handles certified copies herself,” I said to the ceiling, because talking about records was easier than talking about us. “Frank’s minutes list the recording reference as Deed Book sixty-two, page four-seventeen. Betty can pull the original county record and certify a copy for the council. Then county counsel can decide whether it still applies.”

“You know exactly what to ask for.”

“I know Betty. She prefers page numbers to panic.”

He was quiet so long I thought he’d fallen asleep. “I’ve respected a lot of smart people,” he said. “I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust you.”

“Go to sleep, Griffin.”

Sometime before dawn, he said my name. “Will you still want me here in the morning?”

“I’ll be at the recorder’s office at eight.”

I gave him a plan because I wasn’t ready to give him a promise. He was quiet for a moment. “Okay.” He didn’t ask for more. He kept his arm around me until I fell asleep.

CHAPTER 18

GRIFFIN

At seven, Nora made coffee strong enough to count as emergency shoring. We carried it downstairs and divided the evidence at the counter. I pulled Frank’s copied minutes from my notebook. Nora wrote DEED BOOK 62, PAGE 417 across the top and slid them into her folder. I took the permits and assessments. I still had no credibility whatsoever.

At the front door, Nora straightened the collar I had buttoned wrong. “You keep Owen talking.”

“Slowly. I remember.”

“I’ll be waiting when Betty opens.”

“And then?”

“We find out whether 1947 can save six buildings.”

I kissed her. It was supposed to be quick. She caught my coat and made it worth being late.

“Good luck,” I said.

“You too.”

Pearl stood outside Sweet Provisions with her keys in one hand and a pastry box in the other. Her gaze moved from Nora’s hair to my shirt and back.

“Well,” she said. “Glad to see the upstairs passed inspection.”

“Good morning, Pearl,” Nora said.

“What? I care about structural integrity.” She handed Nora the box. “Three cinnamon rolls. One for Betty and one for each of you. Nobody should try to save Main Street before breakfast.”

Nora handed me one. “Talk slowly.”

“Bribe Betty.”

We separated at the curb. She took her car to the recorder’s office, and I walked to the community center with my coffee. Pearl would tell half the town what she had seen before either of us reached a counter.

At ten past seven, fifty minutes before the emergency meeting, merchants’ cars filled every space in the community center lot and lined the road. The turnout was impressive. I had presented multimillion-dollar projects in cities ten times Holly Creek’s size to twelve people, three of whom were paid to listen and one who had wandered into the wrong room looking for traffic court.

Mrs. Morrison stood near the community center entrance in a dark wool coat. At the far edge of the lot, two people waited in a car with the engine running. She followed my glance. “The Calloways.” The last I knew, they were in Bakersfield with Wes’s mother. When I passed, the driver lifted two fingers from the wheel. I returned the gesture. He didn’t roll down the window, and I didn’t ask why they were back.

Nora’s car wasn’t there. I knew it wouldn’t be. I checked anyway.