She checked the next day and found more. On several mornings the county's card recorded "ice and water" at Exit 74, and within a short span Lyman's report claimed he had recovered one open beer bottle under a driver's seat. The more she compared, the less plausible coincidence seemed, but she remained careful about her wording. A repeating expense and a repeating accusation strongly suggested a common practice; proving fabrication in each stop would still require evidence particular to that stop.
"How many are there?" Harvey asked, making tally marks on the back of a church bulletin.
"Sixty-one strong matches across the available three-year window. And the records suggest the pattern may be older."
"That's sixty-one people who might've lost money over one bottle."
"Sixty-one cases in which the same question needs asking," Audrey corrected gently. "Let the evidence earn the stronger sentence."
A final observation unsettled her. The last recorded charge at that particular price was on October fifth. On October sixth, Audrey had sat down at the county clerk's public terminal and heard the clerk whisper, "She's here." After that morning, the recurring charges disappeared from the packet she had received.
She circled the date but did not put an accusation beside it. A person who changes a pattern after being noticed may be protecting himself, or may simply have changed habits. The timing became another reason to ask questions under oath, not an excuse to abandon the standard of proof she had taught others to respect.
The breath-machine log was thinner. A self-check at 7:50 a.m. on October second had passed. At 1:05 p.m., the instrument recorded a subject test for Audrey Sinclair with a result of 0.000. At 1:35, the same instrument recorded an operator test under D. Lyman, again 0.000.
Harvey leaned over her shoulder. "That says zero for you."
"And a functioning check for the deputy thirty minutes later. He told me the machine was broken and no reliable result existed."
"So the machine didn't agree with his bottle."
"The machine doesn't agree or disagree with people," Audrey said. "It measured what it measured. If he called the test invalid, there should be a technical explanation and a record. We need to ask for both."
The final response concerned March 2019, the month of Harvey's stop. The county said its ordinary electronic records had been destroyed under the approved retention schedule. Harvey held his old Bible on his lap and looked as though the seven years had returned to weigh on him all at once. Audrey reread the wording twice.
"They said electronic records," she pointed out. "Not every paper record."
"You think there's another copy?"
"I don't know. Mama kept one ledger in the office and one in a shoe box. County offices have budgets, archives, auditors, and clerks. I'm not ready to assume an empty computer means an empty building."
The church jeweler arrived late that afternoon with a small velvet box. Miss Agnes had repaired the crushed earring, reshaping the gold until it was once again nearly round. A faint ripple remained near the clasp. Audrey thanked her, turning the piece slowly beneath the lamp.