Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
“If they are voiding the sales, the digital drawer matches,” Carter said. “But the physical kitchen slips are still printed.”
“They would have to destroy those,” Linda said.
“Then they are in the trash,” Carter said.
The gravel behind the diner was damp from the morning mist when Carter parked his truck at noon. He walked past the kitchen doors, keeping his head down and the blue cap low over his eyes.
The heavy green dumpster stood near the wooden fence, its metal lid slightly ajar. He reached in and pulled out a clear plastic bag from the morning prep.
Inside, mixed with wet eggshells and potato peels, was a smaller grocery bag tied with a double knot. He tore the plastic open.
Inside were dozens of narrow paper strips, shredded lengthwise by hand. Carter carried the bag back to his truck and laid the pieces out on the passenger seat.
He began to align the torn fragments on the vinyl seat, matching the blue ink lines of the register printer. He pieced together three separate daily register summary sheets.
