Chapter 8: Tap, Sign

"Looking for my rosary," I said. "I left it in a coat."

It was true, so it came out steady.

Odette's gaze stayed on the open drawer for a breath longer than it needed to.

Then she smiled.

"Of course you were," she said. "Mitchell, you look exhausted. Let's do the signing so Marisa can rest."

"The signing," Mitchell agreed, relieved.

He dropped into the leather chair.

Odette laid her signing folder on the desk and opened it.

I stood by the bookshelf, three feet away, and I watched.

She flipped a page and tapped a yellow tab, and Mitchell signed.

She flipped another.

He signed.

He didn't look at the paper.

He looked at her, and at the glass on the shelf, and at the window, and sometimes at me.

His pen moved in the same long loop each time.

Tap, sign.

She turned the pages faster than he could have read a title.

It took less than a minute to run through the entire packet.

I had said *he signs without reading* a hundred times, to friends, as a joke.

I had never watched it from this close.

"Mitchell," I said. "What did you just sign?"

"Odette's flagged invoices."

"Which ones?"

"I don't know." He looked pleased with himself. "That's why I have her."

"Could I see one?"

Odette closed the folder gently.

"Honey, it's routine. Fuel, insurance, payroll. They're dull, and they're all in the system."

"I'd like to see them."

"Of course. I'll send you the summary in the morning."

"I'd like to see the pages."

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