“He hasn’t called me in two days.”

“He will.” Arthur stamped the title and slipped it into a manila folder.

“Men like Julian call when they smell a witness.”

He wrote out a receipt for the title and tore off the carbon copy along a perforated edge.

I tucked my copy into my wallet behind my license.

The Buick had thirty-four thousand miles on it.

I had bought it new the year Chloe was born.

“You could sell the car outright,” Arthur said.