She lifted her chin. “But the problems began before that.”
Richard Latham sat back, arms folded. Victor Hale watched my mother the way someone watches rain threaten an outdoor party.
Mom told the court about the first time she noticed the refrigerator temperature was too high. It had been a Monday morning in January. The walk-in cooler where they kept milk, eggs, sliced turkey, and trays of prepared chicken felt warmer than usual. The little digital display by the door blinked forty-eight degrees.
She told her supervisor, Mrs. Bell.
Mrs. Bell told her to “stop fussing.”
Mom wrote it down.
That was exhibit one.
I watched Judge Warren take the copy and study it. A small handwritten note on a cafeteria inventory sheet, dated and signed by my mother.
