At two thirty I walked into the Oak Creek Diner.

Claire was sitting in a corner booth by the front window, tapping her glasses on a legal pad.

Between us on the table sat two foam cups of lukewarm coffee.

I slid onto the red vinyl seat across from her.

“He froze the bank accounts,” I said.

“And he changed the locks on the house this morning.”

Claire stopped tapping her glasses.

She laid them down beside her coffee.