She only told me that if I needed time, the store would still be standing when I returned.

I appreciated that more than I could explain.

Tuesday afternoon, I parked across from the office building where Mark worked for a regional equipment distributor.

I wore an old baseball cap and drove the delivery truck instead of my familiar pickup.

I felt ridiculous, an aging grocer pretending to be a detective, but I remembered Emma looking over her shoulder beneath the oak tree and stayed where I was.

At four thirty-seven, Mark’s black SUV rolled out of the parking lot.