Chapter 10: Grandma's Table

"Skating fund," I said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"May I show you something, Deputy?"

He glanced at the church women, who had gone quiet and interested.

"Sure."

I opened my folder on the counter, between the napkin holder and the ketchup.

I put the certified accounting in front of him and turned it to face his side.

"That's my grandfather's trust," I said. "My father is the trustee, and he is the one who paid for the coaching."

"Every payment came out of an account with my name on it."

"The only person who took nine thousand dollars out of anything is on page two."

He read the page.

He read it slowly, with his lips pressed together, and I watched his eyebrows climb.

Then he flipped back to the first page and checked the date.

"This is dated Monday," he said.

"Yes."

"The report is dated tonight."

"Yes."

He closed the folder and handed it back to me with both hands.

"Ms. Carroway, I'm going to note that the complaint isn't supported."

He cleared his throat.

"My advice, and this isn't official, is that you keep this folder somewhere your family can't reach."

"I already do."

"Good."

He put his hat back on, nodded at Noah's mother, and walked out.

The next afternoon my new phone rang.

It was a number I knew by heart and had never once seen on a screen.

"I got your number from the boy at the diner," Grandma said. "He seems sensible."

"Sunday, one o'clock, my house. I'm making a roast. Your father is coming, and your mother, and the other two."

"Grandma, I don't know if I can."

"You can sit in a chair and hear a lie told to my face. Wear something nice."

She hung up.

On Sunday, March twenty-second, I stood on my grandmother's porch in my one dress with the certified folder under my arm.

Noah had driven me and stayed in the truck, because Grandma had said family only.

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