I parked on the street in front of Scott’s house, because his driveway held a delivery van. As I alighted from my SUV, a burly older man hopped into the cab of the truck.
By the time I made it to the front door, a young woman was coming through. She halted when she saw me.
“Friend,” I offered.
Her gaze narrowed.
Was she…judging me?
“You’re from Tufts. In San Diego.” I named the furniture store I’d hired to deliver the stuff. “Did you manage to put together the high chairs?”
Her mouth pursed.
Okay, well, the truck’s logo was on the side, so that didn’t help my credibility. But surely knowing about the delivery contents would gain me admittance.
“He’s in a tough place. Take care of him.” She swept past me, clipboard tapping her hip. Within moments she was in the passenger seat of the
