Chapters (62)
- Cover
- A PENNY
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- A Sample Chapter of Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels
- About the Author
- Other Books by Mindy Starns Clark
- About the Publisher
“Right here,” she said, pointing, “March 1, new database software. March 15, users trained, department reduced by 15.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means last March, Feed the Need bought some new database software that was so good it allowed them to let 15 people go from the child-tracking department.”
That sounded fishy to me; obviously, it must have to Wendell as well, because from that circle he had drawn several arrows with question marks and other notations.
“Spell it out for me, Marion,” I said. “This is too confusing.”
She pulled back out the two photos. She placed them side by side on the desk and then stood in front of me, her arms folded across her chest.
“Look at the pictures,” she said. “What do you see?”
It didn’t take long. The hair was different, the clothing was different, but the face was the same.
“This is the same girl!” I said, picking up the pictures of the two little girls. “Rosa Parmenta and Martina Gonzales are one and the same!”
“Exactly.”
My eyes met Marion’s, and she paused a beat before continuing.
“Think about it, Callie,” she said softly. “Field offices are being closed. The children’s photo records are being faked. Half the staff of the tracking department is laid off. All of this without the knowledge of the President or the CEO. What does that tell you?”
I hesitated a beat.
“That somebody somewhere is cutting costs. That somebody somewhere is up to something.”
That hung in the air for a moment, and I thought that “somebody” was most likely Alan Bennet, the person who was responsible for having me shoved into a grave, the person who had had his hands in Feed the Need’s finances for the last five months.
As far as I could tell, any way you looked at it, this was a man who was up to no good.
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
Upstairs, I turned on my laptop to check my e-mail. Sure enough, the home office in Washington, DC, had finally responded to my request for more information on Alan Bennet. I downloaded the file and opened another e-mail that was waiting for me from Harriet.
It was a response to my phone call of the day before when I gave her the plate number of the man who had been following me around town. She had run the plates and come up with a name: Mitchell Ralston. There was no other information, and the name certainly didn’t ring any bells with me.