He used the same flat, unchallengeable phrasing he relied on when issuing formal code violation notices to contractors.

“I said I’ll handle it.”

I unhooked the silver loop from my keyring and dropped the Toyota fob into his hand.

Inside, the house smelled of warm vegetable broth and damp cedar firewood.

At seven o’clock we sat around the oak dining table with four plastic containers of takeout soup between us.

Chelsea sat across from me, spinning her new metal key fob around her index finger as she talked without stopping for breath.

“The marketing agency picked up three new luxury accounts in the Pearl this week,” Chelsea said, tossing her dark hair back over her shoulder.