“There is a seventy-five dollar filing fee for retrieving the historical property deeds, Nora,” Martha said, her slow Midwestern drawl settling into the quiet room. She set the book down, her movements deliberate as she pulled a blue microfiber cloth from her cardigan pocket and began to polish her reading glasses. “And the county requires a signed requisition form for anything dated before two thousand five.”
I reached into my handbag, pulled out my wallet, and laid three twenty-dollar bills and one fifteen-dollar bill onto the counter. The paper money was crisp, a sharp contrast to the yellowed edges of the ledger. “I have the cash right here, Martha. I wrote the parcel number on the slip.”
Martha looked at the bills, then up at me, her eyes clouded with a quiet concern she did not voice. She slid the money into her drawer, stamped my requisition slip with a heavy black ink pad, and slid the ledger across the counter between us.
