“He asked.”
She looked embarrassed.
“I thought he trusted me.”
There was more pain in those words than anger.
“So I started organizing everything,” she continued. “Then I noticed deposits from the gym going into an account that wasn’t Ray’s business account.”
“Whose account?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was in the folder?”
Her eyes snapped back to mine.
“You saw that?”
“Yes.”
“Copies of deposit slips.”
Ellen took her hand.
“Do you still have them?”
Marcy shook her head.
“Dustin took the folder.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
She hesitated.
Then added, “But I made copies.”
I stared.
“Where?”
For the first time, something almost like determination appeared in her tired expression.
“At your house.”
Ellen and I exchanged a look.
“Where at our house?” I asked.
“In the garage.”
I thought of my workshop.
My tools.
Stacks of lumber.
Drawers nobody opened except me.
“Where?”
“In your red toolbox. Bottom drawer.”
