Forty Thousand Dollars Demanded to Bring Our Lost Daughter Home
Vince set the box down on the small wicker table between our chairs.
“I said some things at the diner yesterday I should have kept to myself, Andrew,” he said, his raspy voice softer than it had been.
“You were loud enough for the whole county to hear,” I said, looking at the grease spot.
“I was just worried about you,” Vince said, sitting down in the wooden folding chair next to mine. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“We are doing what we have to do,” I said.
Vince pulled his chair a little closer, his knees nearly touching mine.
“Is George going to go through with it?” Vince asked, pointing a thumb toward the house. “He cashing those old retirement bonds?”
I nodded slowly, keeping my eyes on the driveway.
“We have to try,” I said.
“Forty thousand dollars in cash is a lot of money to hand over to a stranger,” Vince said, tapping his fingers against his knee. “I just don’t want to see you get taken by some drifter with a polaroid camera.”
