Don’t push for restitution.

I was only protecting her.”

“You put my daughter in a car with her,” I said, “and then you put a dead number in my file.”

Marisol appeared at my elbow and pressed something into my palm.

A butterscotch candy in a twisted wrapper.

“My grandmother handed these out before funerals and wedding dress fittings,” she said.

“I never asked her which one we were headed to.”

I put it in my coat pocket.