In a Hartford Courtroom, Grant Wanted the House Until a Little Purple Toy Started Playing
A micro-USB port was hidden under a little rubber dust flap on the curved bottom edge.
“How long has Daddy let you keep this in his car?” I asked.
“Since the weekend we went to the shoe store,” Sophie said, gazing down at her sneakers.
That trip had been seven weeks earlier.
I slipped the toy phone into my handbag next to my notebook.
At eleven on Monday morning I stood at the tall marble counter on the main floor of Hartford Commercial Bank.
The records clerk, a gray-haired woman named Brenda, brought out three blue folders holding the original microfiche prints of canceled checks for Apex Consulting.
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