Forty Thousand Dollars Demanded to Bring Our Lost Daughter Home
The sun was climbing higher, turning the damp gray soil into a lighter shade of brown as the air dried.
I carried the heavy wooden wheelbarrow over to the edge of the patch and began lifting the heavy piles of broken stalks into the bed.
A small piece of white satin ribbon from the box Vince had left was still tangled in the weeds near the fence.
I picked it up, the fabric stiff with dried mud, and dropped it into the bottom of the wheelbarrow.
“Let us get the truck,” I said.
The drive to the county seed store took fifteen minutes, the county road quiet except for a mail truck heading north.
Inside the store, the air smelled of dry grain, sweet molasses feed, and fertilizer bags stacked on wooden pallets.
Patrick walked directly to the back wall where the seed packets were displayed in wire rotating racks.
He spun the rack slowly, his eyes scanning the colorful drawings of red and purple flowers.
