He glanced at his gold wristwatch, brushing his thumb across the leather band three times before shoving his hand back into his pocket.

“Frank was going under thirty-four years ago,” Gene said, his voice flat and gravelly.

“The store was three months behind on its commercial mortgage.

The bank was filing to foreclose on the building.”

“So you cashed in thirty thousand dollars on Claire’s life insurance,” I said.

“It was a policy Frank took out when you were born,” Gene said, looking out toward the parking lot where people from town were drifting off.

“Once Claire was declared dead in the county record, the payout cleared the store mortgage and paid off four local suppliers.”