Rebecca set her spectacles on the table with a small clack. “Robert has always spent more than he earned. That new wife of his does not help. She was talking about Chatham three weeks ago at the pharmacy.”
“She was?” I asked.
“She was telling the cashier about the water views,” Rebecca said. “I did not think anything of it at the time. I thought they were renting.”
Rebecca reached for her mobile phone, which lay on the wooden counter next to the breadbox. She tapped the screen twice and held it out toward me.
“Look at this,” she said.
On the small screen, a list of numbers appeared under her name. She tapped a button labeled Transfer, typed in fifty dollars, and tapped another button. A small green checkmark appeared.
“It took ten seconds,” Rebecca said, setting the phone down. “No paper. No signature. Just a few taps.”
I looked at my tea, which was untouched. “But Arthur and I had a joint account. The manager, Sebastian, has known us for thirty years. He would never let someone walk in and empty it.”
