I thought about it.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll be home. The yellow house on Elm Street with the roses. Mr. Pierce knows the address. It’s on my license.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Whitaker.”
“And Mr. Hale?”
“Yes?”
“Bring Shelly’s job back with you.”
I handed the phone back under the glass.
Brandon took it. He hung it up very carefully. He stood there behind the counter in his starched shirt and his robin’s-egg tie. He looked like a little boy who’d broken a window with a baseball.
He looked down at my license, still sitting on his side of the glass.
He picked it up. He slid it back to me.
Then he picked up my forty-dollar check from the Methodist church.
“I’ll cash this for you, Mrs. Whitaker,” he said quietly.
I looked at the check in his hand.
“No,” I said. “Thank you.”
