Page 88 of Property of Bob

“What kind of things?”

“Money things.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“Deposits that didn’t match what we had taken in. Payments that were entered one way and then moved around later. Expenses for things we hadn’t bought. Refunds that didn’t make sense.” I shrugged. “Little things at first.”

“And then?”

“And then there were a lot of little things.”

“Your boss was stealing.”

“Pretty much.”

“How much?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Ramona.”

“I really don’t.” I held up my hands. “I wasn’t conducting a forensic audit, Ashland. I worked at a campground.”

His eyes narrowed at the name.

I smiled.

“Keep talking.”

“I started paying closer attention. I thought maybe he was just bad with money. Some people should absolutely not be allowed to run businesses.”

“He wasn’t bad with money.”

“No.”

“He was stealing,” he stated.

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“I still don’t know.”

“Thousands?”

“Probably.”

“Tens of thousands?” he probed.

I made a face.

“Fuck.”

“Maybe.”

His jaw tightened. “And you confronted him?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to keep doing his books and pretending I didn’t see it.”