Chapter 8: Two Hundred Fourteen Dollars

"Paid off," Ellie said. "For forty years."

She had read the comment aloud twice, and each time her voice got louder.

I sat at the table with the screen glowing in front of me.

"Maybe the neighbor is wrong," I said.

"Maybe," Stian said from the doorway. "But she lives two doors down."

I put the phone on the table and propped it against the sugar bowl.

"I'm calling him," I said. "Tonight. On video. I want to see his face."

"It's before nine," Ellie said. "Technically allowed."

"Stay out of the picture."

Stian stepped back into the hall.

Ellie crouched below the table edge with a rolling pin in her lap, which I decided not to ask about.

Clinton picked up on the second ring.

He was sitting in our living room, in the lamplight, with the wrapping paper tube still leaning against the sofa behind him.

"Dawn," he said. "Thank you for calling. I've been going out of my mind."

"I'm not here to talk about feelings."

"Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"I want to see the account ending in 4471."

His face stayed perfectly still.

"What account?"

"The one the cabin rent goes to. It has your name on it."

"That's just the family fund, Dawn. I told you that."

"Then show me the family fund."

He rubbed his jaw.

"It's late. I can send you the statements tomorrow."

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