I checked the wall clock above the desk.

The red hands pointed to a quarter past eight.

I pressed the green send button and slipped the phone deep into my cardigan pocket.

I had quietly texted David from my backup phone: “They took my keys.

9:00 AM still holds.”

I wiped the lens of the old flip phone against the sleeve of my cardigan.

The screen was barely two inches wide, but the digital camera built into the plastic case still worked.

I stood in the corner of the guest room and held the small lens steady.