I had thirty-four dollars in cash in my coat pocket and fourteen hundred dollars in an emergency envelope in my purse.

“They froze the checking account, didn’t they?” Grace asked from the doorway, holding a glass of iced tea.

“They froze everything tied to the street address,” I said.

“Evelyn phoned while you were carrying the toy chest,” Grace said.

“She wants you at the diner on Main Street before seven.”

The diner smelled of burnt grease and fried onions.

Evelyn sat in the corner booth under the yellowed plastic light fixture, her half-moon glasses lying on top of a legal pad covered in red ink notes.

She had a thick ceramic mug between her hands, the coffee in it gone completely cold and black.