The kettle began to whistle, a low vibration that quickly turned into a high, steady whine.

I turned the gas knob off, and the silence returned, heavier than before.

“Your mother told us she washed Caleb’s clothes on Wednesday morning,” Sloan said.

“She said he spilled grease on his work shirt.”

I poured the hot water into two ceramic mugs, my hand steady despite the sudden coldness in my fingers.

“My mother does not do laundry on Wednesdays,” I said.

“She has a strict schedule.”