I folded the napkin and put it next to the auditor’s letter in my sweater pocket.

By three o’clock in the afternoon, the house was silent.

Sloan had left at noon for an appointment in Dublin, and the quiet inside the high-ceilinged hall felt heavy and cold.

I sat at the small laminate desk in my guest bedroom and opened my silver flip phone.

The screen was smaller than a postage stamp, and when I typed in the county address Martha had given me, a red message flashed twice across the glass saying the page required a full desktop browser.

I stepped out of my room and walked down the carpeted hallway to the heavy oak door of Mark’s home office.