Ron swallowed hard. “No. But the Wilkersons’ dog was poisoned yesterday, and someone told me that two or three dogs in town have been poisoned the last couple days.”

“But how could they have gotten Scooby? I mean, you always have him tied up.”

“Actually, he broke his chain yesterday and ran off,” Hannah said. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, obviously willing herself not to cry. “It took us a few hours to find him.”

“He was up past your place,” Ron added.

Hannah began sobbing again, turning away from them.

Doug put a comforting arm around Tritia. “You sure there’s nothing we can do?”

Ron shook his head. “Thanks, though.”

“Let us know what you find out.” Tritia moved forward and put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Call me.”

The other woman nodded silently, and Doug and Tritia made their way back to the Bronco. Doug put his key in the ignition, started the engine, put the car into gear, and they pulled away from the ditch, moving slowly around the Nelsons and heading toward home. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Doug saw Ron pick up the dog and carry him toward the driveway.

Neither of them said a word as they pulled into their own drive. Doug parked next to the house and got two sacks of groceries from the back of the vehicle. Tritia carried the other sack. They walked into the living room. As usual, Billy was sprawled on the couch, watching TV. The Brady Bunch. Doug put his sacks down on the kitchen counter. Next to the sacks was this morning’s mail. It had been delivered before breakfast, before they had even awakened, but neither of them had been brave enough to open the envelopes.

Now Doug shuffled through the mail and set aside the three envelopes addressed to himself. As Tritia put down her sack, he tore open the first one and unfolded the enclosed letter: “Dear Tim…”

His name wasn’t Tim. He frowned, reading on:

You missed the meeting, so I’ll fill you in on the details. We passed resolutions five through nine unanimously and hired the new custodian. That asshole Albin gave us a sob story about books and we told him we’d find the funds just to shut him up, but to be honest, there are several more important items we could be spending the money on. I’d like you to write him a letter explaining that our budget for this fiscal year does not allow for new curriculum expenditures other than those already approved, etc. etc…

His eyes jumped to the bottom of the letter. It was signed by Willard Young, the president of the school board. “Tim” had to be Tim Washburn, the only board member who hadn’t attended the meeting.

“Those sons of bitches,” he swore softly.

“What?” Tritia asked.

“They’re not going to give me my books.”

“But I thought you said—”