“No,” Helen said gently, looking at me across the table.

“Think back on what Spencer told you yesterday out in the parking lot.”

I pictured Spencer standing by my car in the afternoon heat, his face pale and damp as he took that printed waiver out of his coat pocket.

“He brought up a loan officer,” I said slowly.

“He asked if I remembered Arthur Miller over at First Horizon Bank.”

“And what’d he say about Arthur?” Helen asked.