Clara found a forged receipt for forty thousand dollars

Marcus was wiping down the counter with his blue kitchen towel, his face creased with his usual sour expression. He looked up as the bell above the door chimed, nodding once at Evelyn before returning to his work.

“Afternoon, ladies,” Marcus rasped, his voice rough from forty years of kitchen steam. “Booths are open.”

“We’ll take the corner, Marcus,” continue reading …