Gwen didn’t touch the paper bag or the blue cards until I’d pushed open the glass door to the street.

I walked the four blocks home to Elm Street, where Evan’s silver sedan sat in the driveway under the maple.

The house was completely quiet when I came into the hall, except for the soft rustle of a page turning in the living room.

Evan was sitting in the oak armchair by the window with his brown leather briefcase across his knees.

He reached into his vest pocket, took out a little brass key and fit it carefully into the side lock of the case.