He pulled the chair from my writing desk closer and sat where I could see him.

“Let’s get someone here,” he said.

I gave him the local police number because my hands wouldn’t manage the phone.

He reported the apparent theft and handed the phone to me when the dispatcher needed details.

While we waited, he noticed a dark blue matchbook beside a kitchen chair.

He picked it up before either of us thought about it.

“Blue Harbor Marina,” he read.