“He sounded completely sure of himself,” Sarah said.

“He thinks fourteen dollars is a cheap price for clearing a thirty-two-thousand-dollar debt,” I said.

I pressed my right hand flat on my breastbone as the Buick merged onto the two-lane highway.

The sky over Oak Creek was gray and overcast, heavy with a late autumn chill that smelled of wet pavement.

“How long will it take to get to Highway Nine?” Sarah asked.

“Twenty-two minutes if we hold it at forty-five,” I said.