CHAPTER 85 Cross
Cross
ALEX CROSS STANDS IN front of a large wall map in the Orange County records office. He moves his finger around the outline of the nature reserve and then over the border to the west.
“Can I help you?”
Alex looks up. A sixty-something Black woman in pressed slacks and a burgundy blouse is standing next to him. “You work in property records?” he asks.
“I do. My name is Lola.”
“Hi, Lola. I’m Alex. I’m in search of property records for a farm in that area.”
“Follow me.” Lola turns to a bank of metal file cabinets on the other side of the room. “I was born about a mile from where you’re looking. Not many farms left around there. Not working farms, anyway.”
Alex waits in front of a long table while Lola pulls open a drawer and runs her hands across rows of well-thumbed files.
“You can’t do this digitally?” Alex asks.
“I like to feel it in my fingers,” she says. “Pencil marks and all.”
Lola returns with a bunch of marked-up property sheets and lays them out on the table.
“Most of these parcels have been sold off to developers over the years and rezoned for construction.” Lola shakes her head and sighs.
“The family farm where I grew up is now a strip mall with a Dollar General smack in the middle.”
“I’m looking for a small property,” says Alex. “Farmhouse, barn, a few outbuildings. Maybe five acres.”
“Okay … how about this parcel?” Lola pushes a sheet in front of him, a survey sketch of a property with borders running to the edge of the nature reserve.
“That’s not far from where you were pointing on the map,” she says.
“Seven acres. Water well. Septic system. Pretty self-contained little compound.”
“This could be it,” says Alex. “Who owns it?”
Lola runs her fingers down a column on the side of the sheet.
“Interesting. Looks like it’s remained in the same family for over two hundred years.
” Lola taps her finger on the last entry in the column.
“Here you go. Colton Brophy. He’s the current owner.
It seems he inherited the title from his dad twenty years ago.
No easements. No fines. Tax payments are up to date. ”
“The family must have gotten offers for the property.”
“No doubt. But some people have their reasons for holding out. Maybe sentimentality. Or maybe they just don’t want to be uprooted.”
“Any recent permits?” Alex asks. He doubts he’ll find any paperwork for a target range. Or for antipersonnel mines.
“Let me check.” Lola flips through some papers attached to the property sheet, then taps another spot. “Excavation and building permit. Ten years ago. Looks like Mr. Brophy was digging a bomb shelter.”