“I’m not mixed up, Martha,” I said.

“He’s trying to push me out.”

Martha looked down at her hands on the counter.

“My supervisor sided with him, Clara.

As long as the estate papers name him executor, he has legal control of the money.”

I turned away from the counter and went out to the parking lot.

Rain spattered the windshield of my sedan as I sat behind the wheel.

In my glove box were ninety-two dollars in cash and three loose quarters, and my thermos of black coffee sat on the vinyl seat.