In the back of the room, a man in a county code jacket folded a red notice into his pocket and slipped out the door.

Vance wrote a number on his legal pad, 38,400, and underlined it twice.

Beneath it he wrote care account and covered it with his hand.

Diane reached over and set a peppermint on the table in front of me, the same kind she kept in her glove box when I was thirteen.

I slipped it into my pocket.

Megan leaned forward.

Her lips moved, but Cheryl turned and murmured something, and Megan sat back.