Curtis set the device in my palm, and my fingers closed around it. It was warm, and a tiny green light blinked on its side. Laura appeared behind me with her phone raised to dial. “Please,” Curtis said, “don’t call yet. I took money to do this, and I need to tell you everything before they come back.” My stomach turned. “Who paid you?” I asked. His eyes darted toward the road.

Headlights swept across the porch. The dark sedan rolled slowly to the curb and stopped, its engine idling. Curtis went gray. “It’s early,” he whispered. “It never comes on Tuesdays.” Laura pulled our son away from the front window. The sedan’s door opened, and a man stepped out holding a metal case, staring straight at our house.