He asked whether she liked puzzles.

I told him that was a question he would have to ask her himself.

THE MAN WITH THE CLIPBOARD

The high school gymnasium smelled of floor polish, wet coats, and coffee brewed in enormous metal urns.

Volunteers had arranged folding tables in rows beneath banners that read WINTER READINESS.

The fire department occupied one end of the room, and the utility company had a display showing what happened when downed power lines met standing water.

Gerald Pike stood behind a table of battery lanterns, extension cords, and printed maintenance checklists.

He greeted me with a grunt and asked whether my generator still started on the second pull.

I told him it usually started on the first.

He said that was because he had sold me a good machine.

I reminded him that Melissa had loaded it.

He said Melissa did the difficult work at his shop while he took the credit.

Noah laughed and began arranging his signs.

One sign explained that portable generators belonged outdoors, far from doors, windows, and vents.

The other explained why a carbon monoxide alarm was not an optional luxury.

Rachel walked around the display and corrected a spelling mistake with a black marker.

Noah complained that she had ruined his lettering.

She told him that a safety message was more useful when people could read it.

I was still smiling when a man in a gray overcoat stopped at our table.

He wore a plastic name badge that identified him as Martin Sloane, Regional Outreach Consultant.

He studied the generator’s data plate without introducing himself.

Then he asked whether I had received any compensation for the previous winter’s incident.

The question was so unexpected that I thought I had misheard it.

I asked what incident he meant.

He said the dispute involving Patricia Whitmore.

I looked at his badge again.

The name of his organization appeared in letters too small to read from where I stood.

I asked how the incident related to the county demonstration.

He said his organization was evaluating community resilience and wanted to interview people who had experienced equipment disputes during emergencies.

I told him the county had invited me to explain generator safety, not discuss my private life.

He smiled in a way that did not reach his eyes.

Then he asked whether I believed the sheriff’s department had treated Trish fairly.

I felt the familiar pressure of someone trying to turn a practical conversation into a statement that could be used elsewhere.

I said I was not qualified to evaluate the department’s conduct.