Her name was Martha as well, a coincidence that briefly made me feel as if every sensible woman in town had the same name.

She was not the hotel clerk.

She had sharp gray hair, a quiet manner, and a desk with nothing on it that didn’t need to be there.

Her receptionist found me an appointment that afternoon after I explained the forged signatures and the threat to my home.

Martha listened without finishing my sentences.

When I told her about Daniel, she asked whether I wanted a break before continuing.

Nobody else had offered me that choice.