I turned my back on the house and walked down the concrete steps toward the street.

Behind me, the metal mailbox latch clicked open before I’d even reached the curb.

By five forty-five the late afternoon sun was throwing long shadows across my kitchen patio.

Emily sat on the low brick wall by the lilac bushes, pulling her ponytail over her right shoulder as she watched me lay the finished blue presentation folders out on the patio table.

“Are the police really coming tomorrow?” she asked, the words tumbling out quickly.