Every Night at Six Thirty, Bob Drove Away, Until His Other Wife Said My Name

“Penelope,” Donald said.

“I’m heading out for a late lunch in five minutes.”

“Then you’ve got five minutes to read this,” I said.

I laid Ruth’s signed statement on top of his green blotter.

Donald sat down at his desk, lifted the page, and read the three typed paragraphs through without a word.

“It’s a sworn statement from Ruth Vance,” Donald said.

“She signed it an hour ago down in Westfall,” I said.

“She confirms that the joint signature on account four-eight-two was made without my knowledge or my consent.”