Chapter 9
We had stopped searching. Not because we were done, but because there was nowhere left to look that didn't mean going through Tara's things.
Dad had checked the couch cushions again. He'd run his hand along the hardwood baseboards by the staircase and looked behind the pendant light's reflection on the TV stand. He'd checked his own brown trousers pockets and turned them out empty. The living room looked the way it does after Mom used to clean for company, everything a little too pulled back to seem normal.
Tara's purse was on the end table where she'd left it. Black leather, slouched open a few inches. She hadn't touched it since she said the money was gone, like leaving it alone proved something.
I was sitting on the edge of the rug in my sweater, my knees pulled up. The pendant light over the hallway was on even though it was still daylight outside, and a thin line of that warm light hit the table at an angle. It caught the metal teeth of her purse zipper and made them flash.
That was when I saw it.
It wasn't money. It was white, folded, with a little pink logo on the edge. A receipt, sticking up just enough that the zipper caught it. maybe half an inch showing from the inside pocket. I hadn't seen it before because the purse had been zipped half shut. The light hadn't hit it that way until Dad shifted the lamp.
I stared at it for a second. My first thought was that I shouldn't say anything loud. If I said "there's something in your purse" and I was wrong, Tara would say I was making things up again.
I leaned a little toward Dad. He was standing near the hallway, his watch catching light too.
"Dad," I said, quiet. Not a whisper, just low.
He looked down at me.
I tipped my chin toward the table. "There's something in there. In the zipper part."
He followed my eyes. He didn't move fast. He walked over to the table and didn't pick the purse up right away. He just looked.
Tara was by the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed, her necklace sitting flat against her black shirt. She watched him.
"What?" she said.
Dad pointed, not touching yet. "There's a receipt sticking out. Right there on the side."
Tara's brow pulled together. "So?"
He glanced at me first, then at her. "Can I look?"
She hesitated. Her mouth pressed tight for a second. "It's my purse."
"I know," he said. His voice stayed even. "We've looked everywhere else. If there's a receipt in there, it might tell us when you last had the cash out. That's all I'm asking."
I sat with my hands on my sweater sleeves. The knit felt warm from where I'd been holding my knees. I could hear the soft hum of the fridge from the kitchen and the tick of the pendant light's bulb heating up.
Tara let out a short breath through her nose and waved one hand. "Fine. Look."
Dad slid the zipper open the rest of the way, slow so the metal didn't snag. The receipt edge came up more. It was folded in thirds, a little crumpled, from a store. I could see the pink and black print on top, one of those drugstore logos you see on every corner near the school.
He pinched it between two fingers and pulled it out. He didn't unfold it right away. He held it up where the light hit it.
"Tara," he said, "when did you last shop or get cash out today? Before I was gone?"
She shifted her weight. "I went to the gas station this morning. Before Marcus you left. I got coffee."
"What time was that?" he asked.
She didn't answer right away. She looked at the receipt in his hand instead of at him.
"Maybe nine?" she said. "Nine-thirty. I don't remember exactly."
Dad unfolded the receipt a little at the crease. The total and time were printed faint at the top. He didn't read it out loud. He just looked at it, then looked back at her.
"And the fifty," he said. "Was it in your purse after that stop? Did you check?"
Tara's arms tightened across her chest. "I had it when I came home. I know I did."
I kept watching her face. She wasn't looking at me anymore. She was looking at that small piece of paper in Dad's hand like it had changed what the purse was. It wasn't untouched anymore. It was something she'd handled today, with a time stamped on it.
May you like
Dad folded the receipt again and kept it in his palm. "We'll keep this with the purse," he said. "So we can check the time and amount."
He didn't say what the amount was. He didn't have to yet. The quiet around the table got heavier, not louder. Tara didn't reach for the purse. The zipper stayed open, and the light kept hitting the metal teeth.
