Lynn set the casserole dish on an upside-down spackle bucket and reached for the penlight in my hand.

“Claire, a cash receipt from July doesn’t mean he was hiding a secret life,” Lynn said, her bracelet clicking against the flashlight casing.

“He probably paid in cash because he didn’t want the insurance company raising your monthly premium.”

“Our insurance co-pay is thirty dollars,” I said.

“This was twenty-eight hundred dollars.”

“It’s probably just paperwork from a routine company wellness checkup,” Lynn argued, taking the paper from my fingers and squinting at the print under the garage light.

“Executives get physicals all the time through work.”