Chapter 3 - The Money Walter Thought Mara Stole
Walter paid for two motel rooms.
Mara refused three times.
Then Sadie fell asleep sitting upright in the Honda while roadside assistance worked on the engine.
Pride lost.
“Two nights,” Mara said.
Walter nodded.
“No strings.”
“Don’t say things you can’t prove.”
He accepted that.
The next morning Walter met Mara at a coffee shop without Rick.
Emily came too, although Mara initially objected.
“Why is she here?”
Emily answered.
“Because Rick cut my shift after you left last night.”
Walter looked at her.
“What?”
“He took me off the weekend schedule.”
“Why?”
Emily gave him a look.
Walter already knew.
Because she had challenged him.
That was another thing he had not been paying attention to.
Mara sat down.
“I have an interview in Nashville tomorrow.”
Walter looked surprised.
“For what?”
“Accounts receivable supervisor.”
“You still do accounting?”
She smiled thinly.
“I was never bad at accounting.”
The sentence landed exactly where she wanted it.
Nine years earlier, Mara had handled bookkeeping for Hayes Diner.
Rick managed the floor.
Walter handled suppliers and maintenance.
June was dying from ovarian cancer.
Nobody was functioning normally.
Then money disappeared.
$32,460 moved out of the operating reserve into an account bearing Mara’s name.
Rick showed Walter the transfer.
Mara refused to return it immediately.
Walter accused her of stealing.
She accused Rick of draining cash.
They screamed at each other in the kitchen after closing.
Walter remembered Mara saying:
“If I put it back before you look, he’ll bury it.”
Walter had heard blackmail.
Now he asked:
“What did you mean?”
Mara stared at him.
“You’re asking nine years later?”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
Walter looked toward Emily.
“Because I watched Rick kick coins away from your son.”
Mara’s expression changed slightly.
Walter continued.
“And because he looked scared when he saw that photograph.”
“That photograph has nothing to do with the money.”
“Then what does it have to do with?”
Mara took a long breath.
The picture had been taken during the diner’s twenty-fifth anniversary.
June had been sick already, though few people knew.
After the photograph, June gave Mara a duplicate set of diner keys.
One opened the old accounting cabinet in the back office.
The distinctive brass key ring Noah noticed belonged to June originally.
After her death, Walter kept it.
“So?”
Mara looked at him.
“Mom told me if anything ever happened to her, I was supposed to keep copies of the handwritten weekly ledgers.”
Walter frowned.
“Why?”
“Because she didn’t trust the new software.”
“That sounds like your mother.”
“It wasn’t about software.”
Mara looked toward Emily.
“Rick had started changing cash totals.”
Emily stopped.
Walter shook his head.
“No.”
“There.”
Mara pointed at him.
“That.”
“What?”
“The word you always gave me before I finished.”
No.
Walter sat back.
Mara continued.
She had noticed cash deposits were regularly smaller than handwritten end-of-night totals.
At first the differences were tiny.
$80.
$120.
Then larger.
Rick said voids and comps explained them.
Mara checked.
They didn’t.
She told June.
June told her to keep copies.
Then June’s cancer worsened.
Everyone’s attention shifted.
Mara found a separate business debit card linked to the diner account.
Rick had used it for expenses that were not diner expenses.
Gas.
A hotel.
Payments connected to a food truck venture Rick had started with a friend.
Walter stared at her.
“Why didn’t you show me?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The week Mom went back into the hospital.”
Walter remembered.
He had slept in a hospital recliner for five nights.
“I told you Rick was taking money.”
“You told me he was screwing up.”
“Because every time I said stealing, you told me not to make accusations while Mom was dying.”
Walter looked down.
He remembered that too.
Mara continued.
She transferred the remaining reserve into a new account under her own name and froze the old business debit card.
It was reckless.
Possibly unauthorized.
She knew that now.
“I thought if the money was where Rick couldn’t touch it, you’d finally look.”
Walter whispered:
“You should have told me first.”
“I did.”
“No. Before moving it.”
Mara’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
The admission surprised him.
“I handled it badly.”
Silence.
“I was twenty-six. Mom was dying. You were barely functioning. I was furious.”
Walter stared at her.
“So why didn’t you give it back?”
“I tried.”
Walter looked up.
Mara leaned forward.
“I sent a cashier’s check.”
Walter’s face changed.
“What?”
“For the full amount.”
“I never received it.”
“I know.”
“Then where did it go?”
May you like
Mara looked toward Rick’s diner across the road.
“That’s what I’ve been asking for nine years.”
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