One Scrap of Paper from Oak Creek Hospital Rewrote Thirty-Four Years of What My Family Remembered
“Did he send the old files to the commercial storage unit?”
Tim leaned across the counter and dropped his voice to a low murmur.
“He was out at the incinerator by the back loading dock until nine last night, burning old customer receipts and ledger books.”
“What ledgers?”
“The old black cloth-bound ones from nineteen ninety and ninety-one,” Tim said, wiping down the counter with a yellow rag.
“Said they had water damage and were a fire hazard as far as the building insurance went.”
“Did he leave the office safe open for the store’s accountant?”
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