Iris Held On to Her Paid-Off Title When Her Father Threatened to Call the Police
“And the rear left tire looks three pounds low.”
“The sensor on the dashboard says thirty-two PSI, Dad,” I said.
“I checked it at the gas station in Chehalis.”
“Sensors fail,” Arthur said.
His voice carried the sharp, official weight of his thirty years as a county building inspector.
“You always let the small details slide on that car, Iris.”
“It ran fine the whole three hours down,” I said.
He held out his right hand, palm up, tapping his signet ring twice against his index knuckle.
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