Trevor stood in the doorway holding a sleeve of paper coffee cups.

He had on his light brown barn jacket, and his gold wristwatch caught the light from the chandelier in the front hall.

“You made good time from the airport, Val,” he said.

“Where’s the key to the back door?” I asked.

He adjusted his watch strap, slipping two fingers under the leather.

“The deadbolt was sticking.

I locked it from the inside while I was fixing the kitchen latch.”

“Sadie was outside for forty-five minutes in twenty-two-degree weather,” I said.