A waitress walked by and looked at us curiously.

I realized how we must look—three women huddled over a folder of old papers, looking like fugitives.

“We need to go now,” I said. “Richard knows we have it.”

“Did he see you take it?” Rose asked, her eyes widening with fear.

“He saw Claire holding it,” I said. “He tried to stop us.”

Rose stood up immediately.

“Then we don’t have time,” she said. “He will look for you here.”

We left a five-dollar bill on the table for the untouched tea and walked back out into the cold night air.

The wind had picked up, carrying the scent of incoming snow.

“I’ll drive,” Rose said, pointing to her battered blue sedan.

“No,” I said. “If he tracks my car, he will find us. We should take yours.”

“I’ll leave my car here,” I said, locking my sedan and pocketing the keys.

We climbed into Rose’s car.

The interior smelled of old cigarettes and lavender air freshener.

The engine coughed twice before starting with a loud rattle.