My cell phone vibrated against the wooden table at exactly eight fifteen.

The screen showed Arthur’s name in block letters.

I answered and asked if he had the background check results back from the agency.

“Agency,” Arthur said.

“I got the file from the private investigator an hour ago.”

I could hear the squeak of a cloth napkin rubbing his glasses through the phone.

It was a nervous habit, the same one I had seen in his office.

I asked him what the report said about Rebecca’s history in Ohio.