Forty Thousand Dollars Demanded to Bring Our Lost Daughter Home
I turned back toward the kitchen, but Patrick was already standing in the doorway, the blue-lined paper held tight in his fist.
“It says she is waiting for us,” Patrick said.
“Give me the paper, Patrick,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could manage.
We walked past Vince, who was watching us from the corner of the room, his eyes dark and still. I took the paper from Patrick and walked out to the barn, wanting a moment of quiet away from the house.
The air inside the barn was cool and smelled of dry hay and old iron. I sat on the metal fender of the green John Deere tractor and unfolded the blue-lined paper.
The black ink was slightly smudged at the edges, as if the writer had been in a hurry.
The first line was short.
We have your daughter.
My chest tightened, the memory of the search boats on the muddy pond rushing back to fill the empty space in my ribs.
I read the next line.
