The heavy metal door clicked shut, and Arthur turned the two keys together.

“Where is Mark right now?” Rachel asked as we walked back toward the front lobby doors.

“He was still at the house when I drove by at eight,” I said.

“Good,” Rachel said.

“The process server should be turning into the driveway right about now.”

At three o’clock, my mother set two ceramic mugs of hot tea on her kitchen table and sat down in the wooden chair next to mine.

“You’ve been working on these bank statements for four hours, Claire,” she said, reaching over to rub my left shoulder.