The yellow tow truck pulled up to the curb at ten o’clock sharp, its roof lights throwing orange flashes across the bakery’s front window.

Julian stood on the opposite sidewalk next to the First Missouri Bank building, wearing his good navy suit with a black wool overcoat draped over his arm.

The tow driver hopped down from his cab carrying a heavy metal clipboard and a pair of thick iron chains.

He knocked the iron links against my car’s front axle with a dull clank that echoed down the quiet block.

“You Audrey Vance?” he asked, holding a pencil over his clipboard.