“Every Sunday morning,” I said.

“Usually while I’m hunting for my reading glasses.”

She gave a short, dry laugh that turned into a little cough, but her mouth kept its cheerful curve.

Wade didn’t take his eyes off his glowing screen, though his shoulders tightened under his dark gray sweater.

“According to the bank records, Arthur phoned the main branch teller desk at eight thirty,” Wade said.

“He requested an administrative hold on your personal checking account, Mom.”