I folded the loan draft into my handbag, locked the metal cabinet drawer, and went back out to my Buick.

At one o’clock, I spotted Julian’s black Ford pickup idling near the back dumpster of the Oak Street Diner parking lot.

I pulled up beside his driver’s door and rolled down my window before he could put the truck in gear.

Julian lowered his window two inches, smelling of exhaust and stale diner coffee.

“What are you doing all the way across town, Audrey?” he asked.

I reached across the console and held the folded loan application out the window.