“The spiral one?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, rubbing his left wrist under the blanket. “The blue one with the plastic cover. It has all the check numbers from the last three years. I always return it to the second shelf. It has not been there since Thursday afternoon.”
“Did Robert take it?” I asked.
“He said he was helping me file the receipts,” Arthur said. “But he did not bring it back. He told me I must have misplaced it during my walk.”
I reached out and took his mug, setting it on the side table before he could spill it. His wrist was red where he had been rubbing it, the skin thin and dry under the light.
“You did not misplace it, Dad,” I said.
“I had a doctor appointment on Tuesday,” he said, his eyes shifting toward the dark window. “I wanted to write down the co-payment in the ledger. It was twelve dollars. But the book was gone, so I could not record it.”
