Carl tapped the clipboard against his thigh twice and walked back to his office without another word.

I reached into my apron pocket and touched the stiff white bank envelope from September, feeling the folded paper inside that showed Evelyn had sent money to that town every single month.

Saturday morning came in cold and gray, and I backed my ’78 Buick out of the gravel drive before seven.

The heater vent blew a dry smell of old dust into the front seat, and the steering wheel shook every time the needle went past fifty.

Twenty miles north of Crockett, the temperature needle shot straight into the red mark at the far right of the plastic dashboard.