“You always were too uptight for your own good, Leah,” Evelyn called from the sink.

I gave her no answer as I took my jacket down off the brass coat peg by the door.

The local bank branch on Main Street had two drive-through lanes and a faded vinyl sign hanging over its red brick entrance.

I went up to the tall granite counter and passed my military ID card through the slot in the glass.

“I need complete printed transaction records for checking account four-zero-nine-two from January through yesterday,” I told the teller.