I stared at the spot on the floor where my old lockbox lay hidden under the concrete and wood.

I had to see a copy of those visitor logs.

I went back inside and grabbed my keys off the kitchen counter.

The trucking dispatch yard smelled of hot asphalt.

I parked by the maintenance bays and walked into the fleet manager’s office.

The walls were plastered with old calendars and faded safety posters.

A little oscillating fan pushed hot air around the room.

Dale was standing over a metal workbench studying a printed route map.