She tried to flatten the creased corner of the quitclaim deed with the heel of her hand, but her thumb trembled too much to press the thick paper down.

“He took the credit cards out of my purse three months ago in Springfield,” she said quietly to the wallpaper.

Mark stayed by the kitchen doorway with his hands deep in his back pockets.

He said nothing, but his eyes never left his mother’s face.

“Where’s the black car?” I asked.

“The tow truck guy took it back Tuesday morning,” she said.

“He hooked it up in the alley behind the pharmacy while I was inside getting aspirin.”