A White Mercedes Pulled Up to Gate Six on a Tuesday Afternoon Without a Permit

“You look like a woman who’s been in a library since breakfast,” she said.

“County library, ma’am.

Second floor.”

“Give it to me.”

I laid the binder on the hood and opened it to the cover sheet.

She read the first column with one finger on the paper, then turned a page, then another.

Her black leather binder lay open on the trunk lid with tabs down one side.

One tab had a year inked at the top, 1996, and I did not look at it twice.