Less than a minute later, they were gone.

Their faces were impossible to identify.

But as the truck turned away, the rear panel caught the porch light.

A company logo became visible.

HARLAN ICE AND COLD STORAGE.

Callahan looked at me.

“Now we call the police.”

“We can call them from the car.”

He sighed.

“You’re going there.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

He hesitated.

“No. Actually, I probably would.”

The office at Harlan Ice smelled like damp concrete and stale coffee.

A tired-looking woman sat behind the counter surrounded by invoices.

I showed her the security video.

She watched it twice.

“That looks like one of our trucks.”

“My porch agrees.”

She rubbed her forehead.

“What exactly are you asking me?”

“I want to know who rented the ice, who used your truck, and why my husband’s watch ended up frozen inside it.”

Something flickered across her expression.

Callahan noticed too.