I wandered into the living room and then into the hall, checking out the bedrooms. One remained untouched. In the other, the linens had been stripped from the bed and the mattress was propped against the wall. I returned to the living room and paused at the front door.

“Hey, Joseph? You know what? You’re never going to fit all this stuff in the U-Haul.”

No response.

“If you like, I can pitch in. I’m good at toting boxes.”

Again, silence from the kitchen, which I took as assent.

I put my shoulder bag on the floor near the couch and went out on the porch, where I picked up one of the loaded cardboard boxes. I brought it into the house again and set it on the floor in the master bedroom. I went out for another box and then the third and fourth. When the porch was completely clear, I shoved aside the box holding open the screen door. I could have unpacked a few things, but I didn’t want to be that helpful.

I perched on the arm of the couch. “Hope you don’t mind if I sit and wait.”

“Edna’s the one who minds. She won’t appreciate it if she finds you here when she gets home.”

“Too bad. I was hoping to talk to her.”

“To say what?”

I turned to find Edna standing in the doorway behind me. She stepped into the room and closed the screen door behind her. She wore her black coat and she had her pocketbook over one arm.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving us,” I said. “How’d you manage to find a new place so fast? You must have checked the foreclosure filings.”

“We can see when we aren’t wanted.”

“Oh, but you are wanted,” I said. “Look what I found.”

I reached into my bag, pulling out the handful of newspaper clippings I’d copied. I held up the first, headlines screaming, PERDIDO CC EMPLOYEE ARRESTED IN ALLEGED THEFT.

She glanced at it, unaffected. “I don’t know anything about that.”

I wagged a finger at her. “Yes, you do,” I said. “I have copies of your mug shots, which I must say are not flattering.”

In her booking photograph Edna looked haunted, eyes large, hair limp. The harsh lighting played up every wrinkle in her face. In Joseph’s, his expression was startled and his skin looked wet. I’d have suggested powdering out the shine, but maybe the Perdido County Jail didn’t offer hair and makeup services.

“We were never convicted of anything,” she said.

“There’s still time,” I said. I checked my watch and pointed at the face. “Oops. Maybe not.”

I was looking through the screen door behind her. She turned and caught sight of Mr. Ryvak coming up the walk. I’d spoken to him on the phone, but this was the first time I’d laid eyes on him. He was in his midforties, wearing slacks and a short-sleeved dress shirt. A halo of ginger hair and a nice freckled face.