8 NoraNora pulled into the blacktop parking lot at five minutes before three o’clock on Wednesday afternoon. She patted the Buick’s steering wheel in appreciation of the car’s reliable performance. What a team—she’d timed the seventy-mile drive north from Spokane perfectly. The man she wanted to see would finish his shift at this O’Neill home improvement chain store any minute.
She eased her trusty vehicle around to the building’s backside and immediately spotted the red parasol marking their agreed meeting spot—the staff smoking area at one end of the loading dock. She parked the Buick, gathered her things, and strolled across the sunbaked tarmac to the cluster of wicker chairs surrounding a glass-topped table. It sported a trio of ashtrays, all recently emptied.
The location offered a
