“And the woman with him is Vanessa Whitaker.

She says she’s his wife.”

The dashboard clock read 10:52.

Eleven days earlier I had signed my name forty-one times at a closing table and walked out with a key on a plain brass ring.

“Do you know these people, ma’am?”

“I know them.” I rubbed my thumb over the bare strip of skin where my ring used to sit.

“I haven’t rented that house to anyone.