At six I walked down to the town square to drop my city utility payment in the night slot.

The evening air was cool and carried the smell of woodsmoke from the local bakery’s chimney.

Mr.

Henderson was standing on the steps of his hardware store holding a ring of brass keys.

When I lifted my hand to say good evening, he looked down at the sidewalk and went into his shop.

He locked the glass door from inside and switched off the overhead lights.

A few doors along, Mrs.