Chapter 18: Accused

The reporter held her microphone up and waited.

Behind me, my whole crew had stopped on the steps.

"I've never forged anything in my life," I said into the camera. "Ask him where the original form is."

Then I got into Jubal's truck before I said anything worse.

The detective came to the warehouse at ten the next morning.

She was in her forties, in a tan raincoat, with a notebook she actually wrote in.

I met her at the counter, in front of everybody.

My crew was signing out Truck Three for a job.

The retired couple from the second floor were signing in to visit their son's unit.

I didn't ask anyone to leave.

"Mrs. Talmadge."

"Kitt."

"Ms. Kitt. Your husband says you moved $380,000 from your father's estate into his company five years ago. A loan."

"He says you signed the transfer yourself, and made him co-signer so he could manage the account."

"I made him co-signer."

She looked up from her notebook.

"Two days after the funeral he sat on my bed with a folder and told me to sign where the yellow flags were," I said.

"I did. I never read a page. One of them put his name on my father's account."

"And the transfer?"

"I never saw it. I never signed it."

"He says you're crying forgery now to win your divorce."

"He would."

She wrote that down.

The retired couple hadn't moved from the counter. The husband had his hand flat on his wife's back.

"I'll be honest with you, Ms. Kitt. I've already talked to Shayla Rhoads about another account."

"Your husband's name comes up a lot. That doesn't make him a liar about this."

"I know."

I reached under the counter for a manila folder.

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