Special Delivery
"Oh, shit!" The words escape my lips as I watch the brown stain spread.
Penelope lets out a squeak that's half surprise, half horror. She leaps to her feet, rushing towards the kitchen. "Paper towels! I need paper towels!"
But I barely register her panic. My mind is racing, replaying the conversations with the police, searching for a crucial detail I'd overlooked.
"The accounts!" I blurt out, my voice rising with urgency.
Penelope returns, a wad of paper towels in hand. She drops to her knees, dabbing frantically at the spill. "What accounts?"
I set my mug down, careful not to cause any more damage. "The client accounts I found, the ones with Scott's name all over them."
Penelope pauses in her cleaning efforts, looking up at me with a frown. "You think it's all related?"