Mark snapped his wallet shut with a sharp leather pop.

“You’ve been going through my personal bank records behind my back,” Mark said.

“I went through my own credit history,” I said.

“Where my name and Social Security number are legally on the line.”

Before Mark could take another step toward me, Ruth moved.

She walked past Mark without looking at him and stopped right beside me near the wooden corn crates, her shoulder almost touching mine.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Ruth said.