In March, the investigator called again.

Helen said the county had finished interviewing the residents who paid priority registration fees.

She could not share confidential details, but she wanted to clarify one part of my statement.

She asked whether Trish had said the generator belonged to her because she purchased it or because she believed she needed it more.

I repeated her words as closely as I could remember them.

Helen read back the notes she had made from the deputy’s report.

The two accounts matched.

She thanked me and said I might be contacted again if the case proceeded.

I hung up and stood by the kitchen window watching the snow shrink along the fence.

For months, the whole matter had felt frozen in place.

Now it was moving without me.

The next afternoon, Gerald called to say that an attorney had requested a copy of his sales records.

He had consulted his own lawyer before providing anything.

He wanted me to know that he would not alter the invoice or the time stamp.

I thanked him and said I had never expected him to.

He replied that the world was full of people who expected ordinary records to become negotiable when money was involved.

Then he told me something that made me sit down.

Melissa Grant had recognized Trish’s black SUV in a photograph posted on the service center’s public website.

The vehicle appeared in an advertisement for emergency equipment delivery.

The photograph had been taken before the storm.

I asked Gerald whether the advertisement proved anything about my generator.

He said it did not, and he wanted me to understand that.

It merely explained why Melissa had remembered the vehicle so clearly.

I wrote down what he told me and sent the note to Helen.

I did not search for more photographs or attempt to investigate the business myself.

The last thing I wanted was to turn my family into a private detective agency.

By April, the snow had retreated from the south side of the garage.

The long groove Trish had carved in the driveway was gone.

Noah noticed its disappearance before I did.

He stood on the porch one afternoon and said the driveway looked normal again.

I told him that was what spring was for.

He asked whether I thought the lady had changed.

I said I hoped she had, but I did not know her well enough to say.

He nodded and returned to his bicycle.

I watched him ride in careful circles around the patch of gravel where the ice had been.