I pulled open the passenger door and climbed up into the cab.

“You shouldn’t be meeting me here, Garrett,” Dale said.

“She’s locked me out of the lake lot money.”

Dale cleared his throat in a long, raspy rumble before wiping his greasy hands on the red rag.

“She’s watching the yard log too.

She asked me this morning why truck forty-four was off its route.”

“I don’t care about truck forty-four, Dale.”

“Well, you ought to,” Dale said, staring through the dusty windshield.