“Megan’s old dishes,” Dale said.

“And a stack of letters from her mother.”

“Find the delivery sheet from the day those boxes left the house,” I said.

Dale spat out the open window and pulled his cap low over his eyes.

“Give me until two.”

I left the truck in the yard and walked four blocks down the avenue to the county records office in the old courthouse basement.

Inside, the air smelled of damp, stale paper and floor wax.