Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO KEPT RECEIPTS
“That’s impossible,” Luca said.
Vanessa moved closer to him.
“Or someone has been using your office.”
Her eyes landed on me.
I almost laughed.
Of course.
If a bracelet didn’t work, she would give me a computer password and a talent for stealing money.
Marco shook his head.
“The request came from the tablet in the primary suite.”
Vanessa stopped moving.
The tablet Luca had given her.
“The camera kept sending alerts,” she said.
“I was dressing.”
“The camera points at the hallway,” Marco replied.
“I didn’t know that.”
Luca looked at her for a long time.
Then he turned to me.
“May I call a doctor?”
I hadn’t expected the question.
“Yes.”
“And someone you trust?”
“My sister.”
Rosa stepped beside me.
“I’ll stay until she gets here.”
Vanessa scoffed.
“Now the kitchen staff gets a vote?”
Rosa faced her.
“No.
But we get memories.”
She reached into her uniform pocket and pulled out a folded envelope.
“I was waiting until after the party.”
Inside was a printed notice from the assistance fund.
Twenty-two thousand dollars had supposedly been paid toward Rosa’s husband’s funeral.
“He died six months ago,” Rosa said.
“I’m still paying the funeral home.”
Luca took the paper.
His thumb stopped over the approval line.
His signature was there, too.
Enzo reached for the envelope.
“Let accounting handle it.”
Rosa pulled it away.
“You’ve been telling me that for five weeks.”
The room went still.
Five weeks.
Luca stared at his cousin.
“You knew?”
Enzo spread his hands.
“I knew there was a clerical issue.”
“A clerical issue buried my husband twice,” Rosa said.
“Once in the ground.
Once under bills.”
The doctor arrived through the side entrance.
Luca stepped aside while she examined my eye.
No broken bone seemed obvious, but she wanted imaging and documented the injury.
Vanessa watched every note she made.
When my sister Nora arrived, she took one look at me and wrapped her coat around my shoulders.
“We’re leaving.”
I wanted to.
Then Luca unfolded Rosa’s notice again.
A small number had been printed in the lower corner.
Case 114.
Mine had been 113.
I remembered Daniel Reed’s page.
Case 112.
“There are more,” I said.
Luca looked up.
“How many?”
May you like
From the service doorway, an older man answered.
“Enough that your father stopped asking.”
