He pushed up his silver-framed glasses with two fingers.

“The 1979 tax filings don’t match the bank statements, Tom.”

“Off by how much?” I asked.

“Ninety-two thousand dollars,” Wade said, keeping his voice perfectly even.

“Pulled out of the scholarship fund in three separate transactions.”

Martha Jenkins, who’d sung in our church choir for twelve years, passed our booth holding a paper bag.

I looked up to say hello, but she turned her face toward the counter and walked straight out the front door.

I set my spoon down on the paper napkin.