Where entry 114 should have been, there was nothing.

A neat rectangular hole three inches long marked the spot where someone had cut the entry out of the heavy paper with a razor blade.

“Somebody took a blade to this ledger,” Arlene said quietly.

Claire stepped up to the cart, resting her hand on the metal rim as she stared at the missing box.

“Does a missing page mean the record never existed?” I asked.

“Paper leaves a trail even when somebody thinks they’ve burned down the whole forest,” Arlene said.