The wall clock over the ice machine showed eleven fifteen in bright red digital numbers.

I dialed the direct customer service number for First National Bank on Elm Street and held the plastic receiver to my ear.

It rang four times before a low, calm voice answered at the other end.

“First National Bank, Warren Miller speaking.”

“Mr.

Miller, this is Nora Whitaker,” I said, keeping my voice down.

“I’m calling about a pending charge on my secondary account.”

I heard a faint rustle of paper as Warren straightened his silver-framed glasses at the other end of the line.