“Okay,” she said, but her tone let me know that she doubted my words. “You know I can hold everything down if you want to go home and rest. You may need to do that.”

“No, I’m good,” I said. “Did you need me for something?”

She shook her head. “No, these are just the receipts for the credit card bills. American Express and Bank of America are in there.” She placed the folder on my desk and I nodded.

“Okay, I’ll go through them.”

She turned toward the door, then stopped and faced me again. “You know I’m here if you need me.”

I frowned. Why would she say that? Did she know something about what was going on with Jeremy? When Lizzy left me alone, I blew out a long breath. That text had turned me into something I’d never been before — paranoid. How many times had Lizzy spoken those same words to me over the years? And never before had I questioned what she’d meant.

Shaking my head, I grabbed the folder. The least I could do today was reconcile the credit card statements with the receipts, so that I could give approval for Lizzy to pay the bills. This was easy enough; something I did so often, I could do it in my sleep.

I laid out the receipts and began checking each off on the statements. There were dozens of receipts for supplies, and then, meals out. There were a couple of receipts for purchases at a bookstore and then the flowers that were sent from our unofficial flower ministry.

I paused and then eyed all the receipts again. Could what I be looking for be right here in front of my face? I studied each of the receipts — the supplies. There was nothing there. The restaurants. There were thirteen meals this month, but how could I find out who had been to each of the restaurants with Jeremy? Half of the time, I was with him. Maybe I could go over his calendar with Lizzy. Turning to the receipts from the book store — nothing. The flowers.

I paused. There had been five orders for flowers this month. I’d called in one myself for Mother Hayden. This was a long shot, but I’d start here and then move to the restaurants.

I picked up my cell and searched for the number to the flower shop we always used. When the young man answered, I said, “Hello, this is Ginger Williams from New Kingdom Temple.”

“Oh, hey, First Lady,” the young man said. “This is Elliott Austin. You probably don’t know me with all the people there, but I love you and Reverend Williams.”

“Oh, thank you, Elliott. Listen, I’m calling about the flowers we’ve ordered in the last few weeks. I think there’s a discrepancy.”

“What? On our end?”