I opened Lucas’s ledger notebook, where the page was already half full of dates, and wrote down the time.

Ten minutes later Courtney came out through that same door with her arms full.

Not a handbag.

Legal binders, six or seven of them, stacked high enough that she had to lean back to keep them level.

Her acrylic nails were a color somewhere between pink and white, and they clicked against the plastic spine of the top binder while she worked the trunk open.

The tab on that top binder had a street number written on it in black marker.