Mark grabbed his leather briefcase from the passenger seat and locked the car with his key fob.

The horn beeped twice, echoing down the empty street.

He walked up his front steps and unlocked the door.

He never looked back at the street.

I sat in the cold car and stared at the empty sedan.

If the yellow envelope held ordinary bills or school papers, he would have taken it inside the house.

At a quarter past five, I carried the heavy cardboard box of groceries up onto Mark’s front porch and rang the doorbell.

Mark opened the door in a freshly pressed blue shirt and gray slacks.