“The deputy has the medical record from the hospital.”

“Evelyn Thorne writes down whatever frantic women tell her,” Daniel said.

He took a small key ring from his pocket and tossed it lightly in the air.

“Claire is confused.

She’s been confused for six months.”

“She isn’t confused about her collarbone,” I said.

Daniel stopped tossing the keys.

His voice stayed smooth, full of the polite tone he used when selling three-bedroom brick homes to town councilmen.