When he reached the house opposite me, he braked the coasting Pontiac to a stop. Penny and I crossed to the car, and Harlo said, “Good mornin’, Odd. How’re you this fine day?” “Bleak,” I replied. “Sad. Confused.” He frowned with concern. “What’s wrong? Anything I can do?” “Something you’ve already done,” I said. Letting go of Penny’s hand, I leaned into the Firebird from the passenger’s side, switched off the engine, and plucked the key from the ignition.
