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Chase. I’m from Arizona and there’s no branch of my bank here locally. I’m thinking about sticking around South Carolina for a little while and I should probably set up an account.”
    “At your service,” Mr. Manner repeated. “Shall we schedule an appointment?”
    “You’ll need a local, temporary business license, too, Ms. Chase,” the shorter, rounder Mr. Ship added with what felt like a rude interruption. “In fact, that’s what I’m here to talk to you about, Ms. Reynolds. Well, I’m here to help get the food truck temporary licenses set up, but it also seems that some of your market vendors are lacking a proper permanent business license. We need to get that remedied.”
    “Allison. Please. We require all the vendors to post theirlicenses, Mr. Ship. We also require them to give us a copy for our files. I’m not aware of any unlicensed vendors. Do you know the specific vendors I need to talk to?”
    “Yes, I have their names.” Mr. Ship opened a pristine leather binder he’d been holding and lifted a single page from the top of a short stack of papers inside. “Here.”
    Allison took the paper. “Two vendors?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s not too bad, but there might be a mistake. Betsy is always on top of everything. And Jeff Kitner . . . well, he has a cart, but I’m pretty sure he has a business license, too. I’m happy to follow up on these right away,” Allison said.
    “That would be very helpful.” Mr. Ship turned back to Peyton, handing her a piece of paper, too. “Fill this out. I can pick it up tomorrow morning, get it expedited, and have everything in place quickly.” He turned back to Allison. “I can do that for all of the food truck vendors.”
    “Thank you,” Allison said.
    “That would be great. Thanks,” Peyton said. Something in her tone caused me to look more closely at her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t agreeable, but like Allison, there was something underneath the words, perhaps something contradictory. But as I inspected her, all I saw were her slightly crossed eyes focused on Mr. Ship’s nose.
    “I’ll be by first thing in the morning, but here’s my card if you have questions.” He handed Peyton one of his cards.
    “Thanks again,” she said before she turned to the banker. “Mr. Manner, can we talk over there, in private? I don’t really mind Becca and Allison knowing my financial circumstances, but I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”
    “Of course, of course,” Mr. Manner said.
    Peyton smiled at Allison and me and then went with Mr. Manner to a spot deeper into the parking lot where the only other people who could have heard them would have had to be inside the old parked Jeep that they stood next to. I didn’t think anyone was inside the Jeep, but looking that direction gave my eyes a chance to seek out Harry again. He was still there, still in statue mode.
    Mr. Ship cleared his throat. “I’ll stop by and talk to each food truck vendor, Ms. Reynolds, if that’s okay, and let them know we can expedite things quickly.”
    “Of course,” Allison said. “Thank you.”
    “And please check on the delinquent licenses as soon as possible.”
    “Right away.”
    Mr. Ship smiled professionally and stepped around us to make his way toward the other trucks. It was as I watched him that I noticed Mel, Hank, and Daryl grouped together outside the taco truck. They were looking toward Peyton and Mr. Manner still out by the Jeep.
    I realized that Mel probably hadn’t just wanted to be helpful to Peyton. Perhaps he and the other two men thought she was cute. Frankly, they’d be blind not to notice her. She was more than cute; she was stunning.
    I sent the three men a critical squint. She might be mostly a grown-up, and she might potentially be in trouble with the law, but Peyton was still my cousin and they’d better be polite and respectful. They didn’t notice me.
    “You think Peyton can handle whatever needs to be handled?” I said,