Clara found a forged receipt for forty thousand dollars

edge of the pie case, his brow wet from the steam of the dishwasher.

“Clara, glad you could make it,” Donald said, sliding over to make room as I sat down opposite him.

He signaled the waitress, ordering two cups of the two-dollar drip coffee before I could even open my menu.

“I wanted to talk to you about Martha’s last few weeks,” Donald said, his voice continue reading …