I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink. Forty-one years old.

Blazer from a consignment shop on Kingston Pike, but this one I’d bought on purpose, because it fit.

“Kit,” I said. “When I worked here, I emptied his bin every night for fourteen months.”

She thought about that.

“Then you have the advantage,” she said. “You know what he throws away.”

Chapter 6 — What It’s Worth

The offer came nine days later.