Brad had taken Kurt’s cash in August, put it straight into a separate account under his own name, and kept every dollar of it off our joint tax returns.

I folded the stacks once down the middle, shoved them into my shoulder bag, and walked out to my truck.

By one thirty I was sitting on the wooden steps of the farmhouse porch with my phone pressed to my ear.

The wind had swung around cool out of the west, shaking the dry leaves on the big sugar maple by the drive.

Brad answered on the fifth ring.