“Walter would have approved of that schedule,” he said.

He walked down the porch steps without another word, his leather dress shoes crunching softly on the river gravel.

I watched his sedan turn onto the county road and disappear past the line of pines.

By half past five, the sun had dropped below the tree line behind the guesthouse, throwing long gray shadows across the lawn.

I walked down to the water with Walter’s blue leather pocket ledger under my left arm.

The brass key fob clicked against the metal zipper of my jacket pocket with every step.