“The filing was made eight days ago.

The signature page is a copy of a copy.”

I wrote eight days under the number.

“Who signed it?”

“That’s the part I don’t have yet.”

By one o’clock the next day, Martha’s patio smelled of charcoal and citronella.

That was the last thing about the afternoon that made sense.

Brandon stood at the grill in a green polo shirt, tongs in one hand and a plastic cup of draft beer in the other.