“I’ll bring it right out,” Arnel said with a warm smile before turning toward the kitchen corridor.

I pulled June’s note back out of my bag and held the paper under the table lamp to read her neat, round handwriting once more.

A man in a dark navy blazer stepped out from the aisle between the middle tables and stopped three feet from my place.

He was about fifty-eight, with silver hair trimmed close at the temples and a quiet, deliberate posture.

He kept his right hand deep in his front jacket pocket, pressing the fabric out against his hip.