The note he’d scrawled on the back of an envelope during the phone call three weeks ago was already on the kitchen table where he’d been keeping it. He picked it up and read it again even though he had the details memorized by now. Hargrove Savings Bank. 10am. Mr. Gerald Fitch. The woman on the phone had been pleasant enough.
Something about Margaret’s account, a small administrative matter that needed to be resolved in person. Routine, she’d called it. He’d written down the name and the time and thanked her twice before hanging up and standing in his kitchen for a long moment not quite sure what to do with himself. He wasn’t a nervous man by nature.