Gregory stared at the napkins for five long seconds.

He tried to judge the depth of the bag with his eyes, but the dark canvas gave nothing away.

He finally stepped back and cleared the doorway.

“Fine,” he said.

“Take your little souvenirs and go home.”

I walked quickly past him, keeping the heavy bag pressed tight against my ribs so it wouldn’t swing and hit the doorframe.

I didn’t speak to Pamela or Dustin on my way out.

I walked straight down the driveway, got into my Buick, and locked the doors before starting the engine.