He hung up and got to his feet, smoothing the front of his yellow button-down shirt.

“Amy,” he said, coming around the desk.

“What brings you out to the highway?”

“Kurt Ostrowski is what brings me,” I said.

Brad didn’t blink.

He walked over to his glass coffee table, picked up a paper cup, and took a slow sip.

“Kurt’s a good guy,” Brad said.

“Brings his boy out every fall.”