The back room smelled of damp wool and old brass, the small space heater under the desk ticking as its metal frame expanded.
Desiree let go of my arms and turned toward the small wooden desk tucked into the corner of the room, where a green-shaded lamp cast a pool of yellow light over a stack of yellowing papers.
“We need to look at the ledger,” she said.
Arthur set his glasses back on his nose and reached into the safe, pulling out a thick, leather-bound book with cracked corners. He set it on the desk under the lamp, the heavy thud of the paper stirring a faint scent of old dust.
Desiree sat in the creaking wooden chair, her black handbag still clutched against her ribs before she set it carefully on her lap. She flipped the cover of the book open, her fingers moving past pages of neat, handwritten dates.
“Merinda kept everything in here,” Desiree said, pointing to a line written in faded blue ink. “Every deposit, every search we made, and every time we had to pay the late fees on the safety deposit box.”
