Now it sat two inches to the right, and the zipper pull, which I always leave on the right, was on the left.

I opened it.

Wallet, checkbook, the bank notice folded in thirds, a pen without a cap, two receipts.

Nothing missing.

I picked up the ivy pot to move it off the table, and the bottom was caked with dry dirt, a sticker peeling up at one edge.

Maple Market, Main Street, register two.

Below the date, a printed time of 5:12 PM.

The doorbell hadn’t rung until a quarter to six.