Whitaker, how far are you from the address right now?” Hale asked, coming back on the line.

“We’re pulled over on the shoulder near exit eighty-two,” Rachel shouted toward the phone.

“We can be there in thirty-five minutes if I drive eighty.”

“I’m three hours away if traffic backs up,” I told Officer Hale, cutting off my sister before she could make promises we couldn’t keep.

“And I never rented the house to anyone.”

“He’s standing on your front lawn with a stack of papers in his hand, ma’am,” Hale said.

“I’m going to have to look at what he’s holding.”