“Are we giving all these boxes to Principal Vance?” he asked.

At nine fifteen I met Irene in the bank parking lot under the tall vapor light.

Her old green sedan sat dark and switched off near the drive-through lane.

I got in on the passenger side and put my canvas bag between my feet.

“He didn’t do it because he wanted to hang on to the money,” I said.

Irene turned toward the dark teller window where Marge Miller had talked to me on Saturday.

“He figured you’d hide five heavy sacks in your garage,” Irene said.