Chapter 10: The Printouts

Dorinda's POV

He was waiting at my door at six in the morning with a folder and no coffee.

"Get your coat," Soren said. "Not here. I don't want the walls listening."

We sat in his green Subaru in the empty lot behind the stats building with the engine running and the windows fogged.

He put the folder on my lap.

His hands were not quite steady.

"I need you to read it in order," he said. "And I need you to know I'm sorry before you start."

"You haven't done anything."

"I thought the worst of you for three years. That's something."

I opened the folder.

The first reply had been sent in my name, and I knew the voice.

It was polite, smooth and reasonable, and I had heard it over a thousand dinners.

The line about wasting a department's time was Winslow's.

He had said it to me once about my cousin, who kept asking for loans.

I turned the page.

There were columns of times and addresses, and Soren had circled things in red.

"The offer opened at one fifty-one in the morning," he said. "The decline went out sixteen minutes later. From Whitstable Realty Partners."

"His office."

"Yes."

"I never went to his office at that hour."

"I know."

I turned to the second set.

"Opened at eleven forty, answered at eleven forty-six," Soren said. "A Wednesday."

I remembered that Wednesday.

Winslow had come home early with flowers.

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