Gerald was silent long enough that I thought the connection had failed.

He finally told me that Trish had returned to his shop two days after paying for my repair.

She had asked him to sign a statement saying that he had verbally promised her the generator before selling it to me.

Gerald refused.

She offered to compensate him for his time, and he refused again.

He told me he had written down the conversation because he did not like being asked to remember something that had never happened.

I asked whether he would share that note with the investigator.

He said he would share it with anyone who had a legitimate reason to see it.

The following Monday, an investigator named Helen Ortiz called me from the county sheriff’s office.

She said she was reviewing complaints about emergency equipment payments and asked for a formal interview.

I met her in a small room with a clock that ticked loudly above the door.

Helen wore a dark sweater rather than a uniform and spoke in the deliberate voice of someone who preferred exact answers.

She asked me to begin before the generator was purchased.

I described the weather, the power outage, the drive to Pike’s shop, and the transaction.

I gave her the original invoice and the photographs from my driveway.

She made copies while I watched.

Then she asked whether Trish had ever said she intended to sell or deliver the generator to another person.

I said she had not.

Helen asked whether I had heard Trish say she was acting on behalf of the county.

I said no.

She asked whether Trish had identified her mother by name or given an address.

I realized she had not.

All I knew was that she had said an eighty-one-year-old woman lived with her.

Helen wrote that down and thanked me for being careful about the distinction.

Before I left, she asked what I thought Trish had wanted that night.

I said I could tell her what Trish had done, but I could not tell her what had been in Trish’s mind.

Helen smiled faintly and said that was the most useful answer I could have given.

At home, Noah was working on a science project at the dining room table.

He had built a model circuit from a battery, a switch, and a tiny bulb.

When he closed the switch, the bulb glowed and he grinned as though he had invented electricity.

I sat beside him and asked how school had been.

He told me his class was collecting blankets for the community shelter.