“I know things got ugly between us these last few weeks,” Julian said, looking straight into my eyes.

“Having Clara come around the house was a mistake, and I’m sorry for how that felt to you.”

I didn’t pull my hand away.

The drop box slot snapped shut with a dull metallic click.

Martha’s phone rang at twenty past eight the next morning, before I had even taken off my knit gloves.

Samuel Reed was waiting on the second floor of First Missouri Bank when we got there at nine.

He didn’t offer coffee or make small talk about the chilly November rain.