Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
“We don’t know how those got there,” Megan said. “Henry must have put them there when he was sweeping.”
“Henry doesn’t sweep behind the register,” Carter said. “You told him three weeks ago that the cash area was off-limits to the cleaning staff.”
Troy did not look at Megan.
He stood behind the counter, his face pale under the amber light of the copper lamps.
The rain continued to beat against the front windows, the drops running down the clean glass in long, grey lines.
“Four thousand eight hundred dollars,” Carter said again. “That’s a lot of breakfast plates, Troy.”
Troy did not answer.
His hand came out of his pocket, and he dropped his brass register key onto the laminate desk with a heavy, hollow thud.
The brass key lay on the dark wood grain of the desk, still warm from Troy’s pocket.
Linda slid two stapled documents across the desk, her pen already clicking twice in the quiet room.
“Sign on the second page,” she said, her voice dropping as she pointed a manicured finger at the bottom line. “Both of you.”
