Forty-One Thousand Dollars and a Yellow Paper Envelope
Then I picked up the motel phone and called Arthur Vance.
Arthur arrived at eleven with a calculator under his arm and his old leather ledger tucked against his chest.
He set both on the desk and pulled out the chair.
“You look like a man with a check,” he said.
I handed him the envelope.
He slid the check out and held it under the lamp.
“Cashier’s check,” he said.
“First National, Oakwood branch.”
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