“No, ma’am.

I wrote the number on a card and stuck it under the visor.” He cleared his throat.

“I copied it onto your log sheet too.

In case the card goes missing.”

We crossed into Connecticut at twenty past four.

I worked the old brass key off my ring and turned it over in my hand.

It hadn’t opened a lock since Pete changed the cylinders in Boston, but it was the only key my father ever carried, so I dropped it into my breast pocket.

Jenkins came up the long driveway at ten to five.