“Hannah,” Evelyn said, reaching deep into her apron pocket.

“I printed something off my computer this afternoon right after I called the naval base locator line.”

She passed me a single folded sheet of white copy paper.

The paper was a little wrinkled at the edges, printed on an old inkjet.

I unfolded it under the floor lamp.

It was a printed screenshot of a text Patricia Nolan had sent to Evelyn’s cell phone three days earlier.

The message said: *Hannah approved the cruise budget before she shipped out to Norfolk.