My fingers were stiff from the cold room, but my hand didn’t shake when I punched in the ten digits Attorney Pendelton had written on a slip of paper weeks ago.

He answered on the third ring.

His voice was alert and sharp, with no hesitation or sleep in it.

“It’s Nora,” I said into the small plastic phone.

“Christopher threw us out of the house last night, but I have the phone and I have my logbook.”

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

“A room on Highway 8,” I said.

“Dr.