“The masonry crew left the heating barn locked up on the main yard,” Nathaniel said, holding the key out toward the gap in the window.

“It has electric baseboard heat, hot running water, and a deadbolt on the inside door.”

Martha looked at the brass key lying in his palm.

“I’m not taking your charity, Mr.

Whitmore,” Martha said, her soft voice turning sharp and defensive.

“It isn’t charity,” Nathaniel said.

“Site rules require a watchman on the property when the mortar heaters are running through a frost.”

“I’m a drywall finisher,” Martha said.