Back Wrong for You
Chapters (31)
  1. Wrong for You
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgments
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. Chapter 17
  22. Chapter 18
  23. Chapter 19
  24. Chapter 20
  25. Chapter 21
  26. Chapter 22
  27. Chapter 23
  28. Chapter 24
  29. A Letter Home
  30. About the Author
  31. Other books by Jenny Proctor

I knocked on the door to Thornton’s office before opening it slightly and sticking my head inside. “Hello? Ida? It’s Lane. Can I come in?”

Ida sat behind Thornton’s desk, a sea of papers spread out in front of her. She looked up. “What? Oh, sure, sure. Come in.” I walked across the office and sat in the same chair I’d occupied when Thornton had interviewed, then hired me two months before.

Ida smiled, but it was weary. “How are you, Lane? Is there something I can do for you?”

“Actually, I’m wondering if there’s anything I can do for you.” I glanced at the mess on the desk.

She shook her head and sighed. “Thornton had a way about doing things. I figured it would be easy to sort it all out, but I’ll be honest. I’m not sure what’s up or down at this point.”

“Did Thornton work with an accountant?”

“No. Not even at tax time. He prided himself in handling all the financials himself.” She sank back into her chair. “It wasn’t right, him carrying all the responsibility like that, but I think he liked being the one who kept everything running. He was the keeper of the keys, so to speak. He liked having ownership like that.”

“That’s understandable,” I said. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Oh, I don’t want you to trouble yourself with all this. I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Are you sure? I’ve got a minor in business. I’m not an expert by any means, but I might know a little something that could help. At the very least, let me help you sort through everything.”

Ida relented. “I guess a little help wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It’s kind of you to offer.”

Two hours later, I’d sorted the papers scattered across the desk into something that was almost organized. Thornton had been completely old school. He’d kept all his books and records by hand in thick black ledgers, one for each year. I’d created a stack of bills from vendors and food suppliers, a stack of bank statements from two separate accounts, and another stack of stuff I couldn’t make sense of but figured probably had something to do with . . . something.