On top of the desk in front of me lay a record book of some kind, bound in black with red leather trim and held open by rubber bands. It lay open to a new page, at the head of which today’s date, December 27, was written in bold capital letters. LouElla had recorded today’s observations: the temperature that morning at six A.M., 31 degrees; and 0723, the time the sun rose. LouElla’s newspaper had been delivered at 0645 precisely. As I browsed down the entries I mused that Chestertown’s lawyers better not try any creative billing. LouElla had their comings and goings well documented — P.L., whoever he was, had come to work at 0905 and left precisely at 1023. I noticed he came back again at 1100, probably after a coffee break. The book was nearly full, so I slipped off the rubber bands and t
