She pulled open the heavy vault door to let me out into the corridor, and the thick steel panel swung closed behind us with a deep hydraulic thud.

The bank guard saw me out to the parking lot before the clock hit five.

By half past eleven the following morning, Renee had me standing in a checkout lane at the department store downtown.

She put two boxes of name-brand bran flakes on the black rubber belt and tapped her manicured index fingernail on the counter glass.

“You went for the expensive brand again, Margaret,” Renee said.

I reached into my purse for my wallet, but Renee took the store card back from the cashier before I could pass mine over.