“Morning, Clara,” Martha said, slipping into her polite bank voice.

“Sophie said you were at the church sewing circle on Tuesday.”

“I stayed home this week,” I said, leaning in close to the brass speaking grille.

“Martha, I need copies of the six-year-old account ledgers for the lake lot trust.

The records from just before Daniel disappeared.”

Martha made no move toward the ledger drawer under her counter.

She picked up a blue pen, turned it over twice in her fingers, and put it back in the tray.

“Dean came in three weeks ago,” Martha said quietly.