“Uncle John’s basement drain is backing up again,” he said, his voice flat and brisk.

“Don’t wait up for me tonight.”

“Yesterday’s pork roast is still in the icebox,” I said.

“I can heat up a slice for you.”

“I don’t have time for a plate,” he said, heading for the front door without taking his hat off.

“He needs help with the main shutoff before the floor floods.”

“Is key W-14 down at his place?” I asked.

Bob stopped in the doorway, his hand resting on the brass knob.