“I know what a brass padlock looks like, Teresa,” Beatrice said, fidgeting with her silver neck chain.

“You’re a guest in my car, Beatrice, and you’d do well to remember that,” Teresa said.

The main doors slid open with a soft rush of air as a yellow taxi pulled up to the white curb.

Teresa adjusted the strap of her handbag, stepped through the glass entrance, and walked out into the heat without looking back.

She handed the driver a bill through the open window before sliding into the back seat.

Beatrice stayed on the concrete sidewalk under the entrance canopy, her feet planted close together.