“He figured wrong,” she said.

“Keep the deadbolt locked until I call you on this new phone Friday morning,” I said.

“I’ll stay inside,” she said.

I stepped out onto the second-floor landing, pulled the solid oak door shut behind me, and tested the latch twice with my thumb.

The cold air smelled of cedar and damp granite as I walked down the concrete steps to the parking lot.

My truck sat under a tall streetlamp by the side gate, quiet and dark in the early winter dusk.