Fayetteville is thirty miles east on the state road.

The bank’s clock read four minutes past nine.

“How long does that drive take?” I asked.

David stood in the doorway with a dish towel over his shoulder.

“Forty minutes.

Forty-five if you get behind a grain truck.”

“Then she wasn’t there at nine.”

“She wasn’t there at nine.” He came in and sat in the little chair by the window.