“And the blue envelope with the Arizona title in it.”

Daniel wiped his palms down the sides of his trousers.

He looked at the old Buick, then toward the quiet stretch of Willow Creek Lane two miles off, though he couldn’t see it from where he stood.

“The registration is locked up in my desk safe,” Daniel said.

“I told you, I’m handling the vehicle paperwork so you don’t have to worry about city fees.”

“That car is mine,” I said.