The black car appeared at six forty-three in the morning.
Holmes saw it from the hardware store window while the coffee was still too hot to drink — a late-model Chevrolet sedan, dark enough to read as either navy or black in the flat November light, parked facing east on Maple Street with a direct sightline to the Byers driveway. The engine was off. The driver's window was cracked two inches. A thin thread of cigarette smoke rose from the gap and dispersed in the cold air with a regularity suggesting a man conserving, not indulging — someone on a long watch with a fixed ration.
Holmes stood at the window for four minutes without touching his coffee.
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