“Sixty-one forty.” She tapped her nails again.

“I can print a statement.”

“No.” I folded the envelope into my purse.

“This is enough.”

The county hospital lobby smelled of coffee and floor wax.

Margaret’s room was on the second floor, but I stopped at the window first.

The parking lot was full of cars with their headlights on.

Margaret was propped up on two pillows.