The old man twisted his wiry beard. “Avery Adams.” My shoulders tensed, and I took a deep breath. He slid out a drawer underneath the register and flipped through a stack of papers. The old man held out his hand, extending a driver’s license. “You dropped it when you were in here. Tried to tell ya, but you sped off like a bat out of hell, so I’ve just been holding it for you. In case you came back.” He smiled, revealing cracked yellow teeth.
