Chapter 12: The Empty Safe

"Under my floorboard," Caleb said. "Why?"

Dale's smile did not move.

"That tin belongs to the church."

"It holds ten receipts from Dad's own hand. Every dollar I took came back by 2018."

"Is that so."

"You've told the board for years the fund is short because of me."

"The fund is short," Dale said smoothly, "because a thief took three thousand eight hundred dollars from it."

"I just told you it was repaid."

"A family can write itself a receipt."

I stepped forward.

"Then the church can look at the bank deposits," I said. "March 2015. Four hundred dollars. Do you want to bet they match?"

Dale's eyes flicked to me, very briefly.

It was the first time I saw him afraid.

He moved fast.

His hand shot out and closed on the rim of the can.

For a second the two brothers stood tugging at it.

"Take your hand off my son's property."

The voice came from behind us.

Frank stood in the open doorway in his stocking feet.

He did not shout.

He did not need to.

Dale let go.

"Dad, this is church business."

"This is my kitchen can and my floorboard," Frank said. "Go home, Dale."

"You're going to side with him? After what he did?"

"I'm going to side with the receipts," Frank said, "which I wrote."

Dale stared at his father.

Then he laughed, a short, ugly bark.

"Fine. Keep it. Paper is cheap."

He walked down the steps and stopped at his truck.

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