“Thursday morning,” David said, and he tapped his wedding ring once against the rim of his water glass, then made himself stop.

Thursday came to the clinic before it came to the bank.

Deb had the front desk lamp on and the coffee going when I unlocked at seven forty, and a woman was already standing in the waiting area with a leather portfolio under one arm.

Black shoes, a lanyard, a state identification tag clipped to the strap.

“Mrs.

Rourke?

I’m the licensing inspector for this district.

I have a notice for you.”