Forty Thousand Dollars Demanded to Bring Our Lost Daughter Home
“That is right,” Vince said. “We are going to get her back.”
The heat was already starting to rise from the damp soil, bringing the smell of decaying green leaves up around us.
We worked for another hour, clearing the broken stems until the patch was mostly bare dirt again.
Vince did not complain once about his back or his boots, even when the sharp stubble of the cut stalks scratched his ankles.
When we finished, we walked back toward the house to wash the dirt from our hands.
The kitchen window air conditioner was humming, blowing a cool draft across the worn oilcloth table.
George was sitting at the head of the table, his stern face neutral as he watched Vince dry his hands with a dish towel.
“The bank manager in town said the cash will be ready by nine-thirty tomorrow,” George said, clearing his throat loudly.
“That is thirty minutes after their deadline,” Vince said, setting the towel on the counter.
