He opened the thick logbook to the page for August fourteenth and ran his index finger down the grid.

“There’s no entry here for Leah Miller,” the clerk said.

“And nobody signed for this serial number on that date.”

“Was my mother in this store at any point in August?” I asked.

The clerk flipped back three pages in the ledger and stopped at an entry dated July twenty-second.

“Your mother came in with a document to get notarized for a utility account,” the clerk said.

“I remember her because she left her reading glasses on the glass counter.”