Mary Bennett stood by the kitchen archway with her hands flat on her knees.

She gave me one quiet nod that meant we’d talk in a minute, just not in front of the child.

“Did your father say why he switched off the porch light?” I asked.

Sadie looked toward the front window, where the dark shapes of the oak trees swayed against the gray sky.

“He was looking for something in his desk,” she said.

“He had the little flat brass key from the emergency drawer, the one that opens the locked metal filing box.”