How Two Extra Jobs and Forty Thousand Dollars Bought the Old Miller Farm

“Not Kim, not Jeff, and not your dad.”

“If they find out we’re working nights, my dad will come over with five hundred dollars and think he fixed it,” Nate said.

“He won’t get the chance,” I said.

I took my phone out of my purse and tapped the screen before we reached the town limits sign.

“Who are you calling on Easter Sunday?” Nate asked.

“Patty,” I said.

Patty’s Truck Stop Diner sat on the bypass three miles south of the interstate, squeezed between a diesel station and a gravel lot full of eighteen-wheelers.