On the corner of the nightstand, exactly where Renee had left them after breakfast, lay the three glossy brochures for the senior living center on Frank Lloyd Wright Boulevard.

I picked up the top booklet.

The couple on the cover was still smiling beneath their green awning, surrounded by text about scheduled afternoon outings and group dining hours.

I took the papers into the little kitchenette, pulled out the lower bin drawer beneath the sink, and quietly dropped the senior care brochure into the recycling bin.

Arthur Vance pushed a heavy manila folder across the mahogany desk before I had even sat down.

He unscrewed the cap of his fountain pen three turns and laid it on the green blotter.