Mr. Scroggins was a fat, jovial man with a bulbous red nose and twin white mustaches that curled up on the ends. He wore red suspenders and a bow tie and owed his reelection for three consecutive six-year terms as probate clerk to the goodwill of the friends who, in their turn, called on him for important favors, usually (but not always) legal. Mr. Scroggins owned a cotton gin on the south side of town and a cottonseed oil mill over by the river, and (although he was always careful not to miss the monthly meetings of the county commissioners) did not see much point in spending a lot of time in the office, especially since Verna took such good care of everything.

Whenever he dropped in, Verna would hand him a pen and a bottle of ink and a few papers requiring his signature (she had already signed the rest), bring him up to date on anything that might present a major problem, and ask his opinion about one or two minor matters. He would smile and pat her on the shoulder and say, “Don’t reckon I could do without you, Miz Tidwell,” and go back to his cronies and his cotton gin.

To some people, Verna’s job might have seemed boring, but she enjoyed being responsible for the multitude of property transactions, tax liens, wills, probate orders, and election details that kept the machinery of Cypress County moving. She also liked her work because it gave her an inside look at what was going on at the moment. She always knew who was buying and selling property, because the office managed the property records. She knew who died or was born or got married, because the probate clerk issued marriage licenses and birth and death certificates, as well as filing wills and probate documents. The office also collected property tax payments, so Verna knew who had gotten so far behind on their taxes that the county was planning to put the property up for auction. When that happened, she was the one who recorded the sale. In fact, Verna often said that nothing of any consequence could happen in Cypress County without leaving a paper trail across her desk.

Until a few months ago, there had been two women full-time in the office, Verna and Coretta Cole. But tax revenues were down, and Mr. Scroggins had decided to save money by cutting staff hours. Now, Coretta worked only two days a week, usually Tuesdays and Thursdays. But Coretta had agreed to come in on Monday, instead. So Monday morning, when Liz Lacy phoned the probate office to give Verna the address she had found in Miss Jamison’s file, and (to Verna’s pleased surprise) a telephone number and a name as well, Verna could ask Coretta to take over for her. She could turn her attention to the plan she had concocted the evening before—the plan to deal with Mr. Gold.