A soft breeze moved over the bay, stirring up small ripples that caught the pale sun.

“Your father always said the lake was clearest right before the first hard freeze,” I said.

She didn’t check the clock on her phone.

She took her hands out of her pockets and let them hang loose at her sides.

“Did Vance phone before we left Elm Street?” she asked.

“He phoned at seven,” I said.

“The county prosecutor signed the final court order this morning.”

“And what about Martha at the bank?”