I left the receipt on the table, but I kept its date in mind.
At 8:05 that evening, I returned to the vineyard office with Caleb and the bookkeeper. The office clock ticked above a cabinet filled with old property files. Caleb had placed the ledger on his desk and was closing it when I entered.
“I need the original lake lot receipt,” I said.
“You have a copy.”
“I need the original.”
He rested both hands on the ledger cover. “What difference does the paper make if the figures agree?”
“The figures don’t agree with the account information I have.”
The bookkeeper stopped sorting invoices. She was a careful woman who wrote the date on every stack of paper, even when the date appeared on the first page.
“Mr. Nathan, I thought you had been given the original file.”
“By whom?”
She glanced at Caleb.
He opened the ledger again, turning to a page near the back. “There are several files for the lake lot. Perhaps the one you want is somewhere else.”
