She turned her back on me and started rinsing her tea infuser under the running faucet.

I picked my wool coat up off the barstool, walked down the back hall toward the garage door at twenty to three, and stopped beside the oak side table.

Eleanor’s brown leather handbag sat on the polished top next to a brass tray of house keys.

The top zipper was open three inches, showing the blue plastic edge of her wallet.

I stood perfectly still on the runner rug, listening to the heavy rush of tap water splashing into the kitchen sink.