Chapter 3
My dad didn't raise his voice. He just stood between us on the hardwood and made it clear we weren't going anywhere until we looked.
Tara had her arms crossed over her black button-up, her gold necklace catching the light from the window. I stayed near the staircase where he'd left me, my hands tucked into the sleeves of my cream sweater. The knit was thick against my wrists and I kept rubbing my thumb over the ribbed edge.
"Okay," my dad said to Tara. His voice was calm. "Show us exactly where your purse was. And when was the last time you saw the fifty?"
Tara let out a breath like we were wasting her time. "On the entry table. Right when I got home. I counted it before I put it away."
"When was that?" he asked.
"This morning," she said. "Before you left."
My dad nodded once and looked at me. "Maya, come here. You're part of this. We all look together."
I didn't want to move. My legs felt heavy, but I stepped off the bottom stair and followed them the few feet to the entry area by the front door. The pendant light over the living room hummed faintly behind us.
Tara's purse was a dark leather tote, sitting on the narrow entry table like she said. Next to it was a small tray with keys and some mail, a grocery flyer sticking out. The hardwood underneath had a faint scuff from where the table legs had been dragged.
"Right here," Tara said, tapping the table. "I left it right here. Zipped. Nobody else touched it."
My dad didn't touch the purse yet. He looked at the table, then at the floor around it. "Has it moved since you noticed the money was gone?"
"I picked it up to check," Tara said. "Of course I picked it up."
He nodded. "Okay. Let's check around it first before we go inside it."
We all crouched a little. I could smell the leather and the faint cleaner they used on the floors. My dad ran his hand carefully over the tabletop, moving the mail aside, checking under the tray. Nothing underneath except dust. He looked behind the table where it met the wall, then down at the floor.
"Nothing here," he said quietly. He glanced at Tara. "You said you counted fifty before you put it away. Was it folded? In a wallet? Loose?"
Tara's mouth pressed thin. "Loose. In the inside pocket. I remember putting it there."
My dad didn't argue. He just lifted the tote with both hands and set it squarely on the table so we could all see. "Let's do this together so there's no question."
He unzipped it slowly. The zipper sound was loud in the quiet house. Inside, the purse was neat but full. A wallet, a pack of gum, a small makeup bag, a pair of sunglasses in a soft case, a folded receipt, her phone charger tangled at the bottom.
Tara reached in first and pulled out her wallet. She flipped it open. I saw a few ones, some cards, but she shook her head. "Not in here. I told you, it was the pocket."
She pushed the wallet aside and pulled the lining straight so we could see the inside pocket, the one with a zipper. She unzipped that pocket and turned it inside out a little.
It was empty.
For a second nobody said anything. I could hear the clock in the living room ticking.
"It's not there," she said, her voice sharper now. "See? I told you it's gone."
My dad took the purse gently from her and turned it so the light fell inside. He didn't dump it. He just looked, section by section. He felt along the bottom seams with his fingers, checked the side pockets, lifted the makeup bag and the sunglasses case and set them on the table one by one.
"Check with me, Maya," he said.
I leaned in. My hands were shaking a little so I kept them close to my sweater. I looked into the bag where he pointed. The fabric inside was dark brown, empty except for crumbs from the gum and a stray bobby pin. No folded bill, no green edge, nothing caught in the seams.
He turned the whole tote upside down and gave it a soft shake over the table. The bobby pin fell out and clicked against the wood. Nothing else.
Tara stepped back and crossed her arms again. "So where is it? It was there this morning. She was the only other person here."
My dad set the purse down carefully and zipped the inner pocket closed again. He looked at Tara, then at me, his expression steady the way it had been since he walked in from the hallway.
"There's no fifty where you said you left it," he said. "And it's not on the table or under it. That's what we know so far."
Tara stared at the empty table like the money should appear if she looked hard enough. "Then she moved it."
My dad didn't answer right away. He put his hand lightly on my shoulder. The weight of it made my eyes sting again, but I didn't cry.
May you like
"We've checked where you said it should be and it's not there," he said to Tara. "That doesn't prove Maya took it. It just proves it's not there."
I looked down at the entry table, at her empty purse and the little tray and the mail, and felt my stomach turn. The money wasn't where she was so sure it had been, and she wasn't any less sure it was my fault.
