Forty Thousand Dollars Demanded to Bring Our Lost Daughter Home
“He is drowning in gambling debts,” I said. “The boys from the county line have been looking for his truck since Easter.”
George closed the ledger book with a heavy thud that made the salt shaker slide an inch to the left.
“We are not giving him a single cent of that retirement money,” George said.
“No,” I said. “But we are going to let him think we are.”
Clara looked up, her hand resting on the back of George’s wooden chair. “Andrew, you cannot go after him. He is desperate.”
“I am not going to fight him,” I said. “But we need more than a smear of pollen if we want Deputy Miller to do anything about this.”
“He will deny it,” George said, his voice flat and practical. “He will say the shears got dirty when he was clearing his own ditch last week.”
“He won’t deny it if we have his own voice on tape,” I said.
I reached onto the wooden peg near the kitchen door and took my car keys down, the metal ringing in the quiet room.
