“Keep this in your glove box,” Sergeant Miller said, sliding the paper through the slot.

“If anyone from an Oregon county office calls, give them this reference number.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” I said, taking the paper.

I drove back to Monica’s house and parked in the quiet driveway behind her red sedan.

By three o’clock that afternoon, wet birch leaves were stuck to Monica’s kitchen window.

My phone vibrated on the Formica table, showing my mother’s home landline number from Portland.

I answered on the third ring and set the phone on speaker beside my coffee mug.