“There’s nothing at the house but the refrigerator.”

Carl pulled the clipboard out from under his arm and stared at it like the answer might be written there.

“Your mama used to come in and tell me my coffee was too strong.”

“Every single week,” I said.

“Eleven years, and she never bought one cup.”

“If she was here, boss, she’d buy one now.”

He headed back down the hall, the clipboard tapping against his leg the whole way.

The trash can was right behind the counter, and the torn envelope was still in my hand.