The Vendors Laid Their Yellow Receipts Beside The Pottery Bowls

Ellis had paid $180 to get his spoons back.

"He said my sanding cloths were a fire hazard," he told us. "They were clean cloths. I don't even sand at the booth."

His receipt had the same narrow shape as mine. Curtis had written Safety Hold across the top.

"Did the board see this?" I asked.

"I thought he was the board."

Faye set a chair beside him.

"That's a fair mistake," she said. "He does speak in capital letters."

Ellis laughed, but his eyes stayed on the paper.

I wanted to tell him he should have complained. Instead, I thought of the people looking away as my boxes left. I had looked away from trouble myself when one slow selling day could ruin a month.

"Can we make a copy?" I asked.

He said yes.

We met at Faye's pottery studio on Monday. Her drying shelves lined one wall. Plain bowls sat upside down on boards, each with a small note about when it had been made.

"Clay keeps its own schedule," she said, setting out tea. "Paper seems to, too."

With Ellis's permission, she had asked three vendors she knew whether they had ever received a hold receipt. She had shown them mine. She had not called them thieves or victims. She had asked what had happened.

All three came.

A soap maker brought a $220 receipt and a bank statement showing the payment. A mitten seller brought a photo of one for $150. A woman who sold dried wreaths had paid $300, including a fee for storage she had never requested.

"Write only what you remember," I said. "If you don't know the date, leave it blank until you can check."

The soap maker, Lena, watched me rule columns on a sheet.

"Were you an accountant?"

"No. I sell things that shrink if I pour too hot. I learned to keep notes."

I listed date, claimed violation, goods taken, money paid, and proof available. Each person kept the original. Each signed their own account. I numbered the copies, then tied our first bundle with a red keeper thread from my wick bag.

"That's your fancy filing system?" Ellis asked.

"It tells me which bundle I already counted."

My phone buzzed beside the teapot.

Curtis had sent me a notice from the market address. My place for Friday was withdrawn due to disruptive conduct and a review of residency.

Under that, he had written: Traveling vendors must understand local standards.

I read it aloud once.

"You live in Michigan," Faye said.

"The application didn't require me to live in Traverse City."

I opened the saved application. There was my home address, exactly as I had submitted it. There was the office's acceptance and my $90 payment.

For a moment, my face felt hot. All morning I had been careful with dates and columns. That one word, traveling, reached under the care and found a sore place.

"He wants me busy proving I belong," I said.

Lena pushed the tea closer.

"You rented a stall. That's enough belonging for this."

I forwarded the notice to Mara and asked whether it came from the board.

She called within twenty minutes.

"It did not," she said. "Please keep that email."

I asked for her answer in writing. She sent it before we ended the call. My Friday space remained reserved. The board would meet Wednesday.

That afternoon, we took our copies to the association's bookkeeper, Alma Voss, with Mara's written request for a check against market records.

Alma had not been at the storeroom review. She studied the first receipt as if it were something found in a wall.

"These aren't our forms."

"Were the payments entered?" I asked.

"I'll need to look."

We waited while she checked four dates. None of those receipts appeared under fines or storage. There was no such income line in the approved budget.

Alma did not jump to a conclusion.

"Money can be entered under the wrong heading," she said. "I need the deposits and the actual checks."

Lena unfolded her statement.

"I have a check image at home. He told me to make it out to Danner Site Services."

Alma set down the receipt.

"That's his own business."

She asked permission to copy our packet, then wrote a list of records she needed from Curtis.

At the bottom was his stock disposal ledger.

"Does he keep one?" Ellis asked.

Alma looked toward the locked office cabinet.

Before she could answer, Mara arrived carrying a notice for an emergency board meeting.