I took the yellow dock slip out of my wallet and set it flat on the nightstand next to the framed photograph of Laura.

By nine-thirty the next morning, I was sitting in the leather chair in Carl Gable’s office on Third Street.

Carl picked up the yellow dock slip from the corner of his desk and turned it over twice in the morning light.

“Oakridge Marina,” Carl said. “Slip 14, registered to Stevens Holdings LLC.”

“And the forty thousand dollars leaves Oak Creek Bank every January within forty-eight hours,” I said.

Carl stood up, walked to the tall metal cabinet behind his chair, and pulled a faded yellow folder out of the bottom drawer.