His phone rang in his shirt pocket.

He stepped out into the hall to answer it and said the word contractor twice, then a number, then shut the study door behind him.

He came back out with his coat on.

“Thursday,” he said.

“Think it over.”

The brass key was still warm from my hand when I heard the door close behind him.

Sterling and Vine smelled of oil that had sat in the fryer a day too long.

Julian stood at the pass with a towel slung over his shoulder, counting something into a plastic bin.