“Why did Garrett frame you for forty-one thousand two hundred dollars?” I asked.

“Because I saw what he was putting into your morning coffee thermos,” Rebecca said.

The wind lifted an empty paper wrapper off the gravelly grease pit and tumbled it across my shoes.

“What was he putting into it?” I asked.

“It was eight months ago, just before the quarterly audit,” Rebecca said, her voice dropping lower.

“I came into the executive kitchen early to put away the coffee delivery.

Garrett was standing by the pot with Valerie Hayes.”