Samuel Reed Kept an Old Wooden Bat Behind the Pantry Door for Twenty Years

“Where would he get thirty-one thousand dollars?” I asked.

“He would not.” Mark turned the page over with one finger.

“He does not have it.

His brother in Charlotte does.

Which tells me the brother wants this finished worse than he does.”

“Deputy, you can put that page in the trash.”

“Dad.” Claire’s voice was quiet.

“Thirty-one thousand dollars.”