Yes, he got grumpy when he had to pay taxes, when he disagreed with politicians, or when she didn’t do what he asked. But he never lost his temper. He volunteered with the PTA, brought food to class parties, and clapped for her at every school performance. He’d parted ways with organized religion, but he’d never lost the faith in God that his mother had instilled in him. He’d sent Finley to church with his brother, Robbie, and Robbie’s wife, June, every time the sanctuary doors were thrown open. They were thrown open a lot. Finley’s relationship with God had grown in the soil of that small-town church and ended up changing her life.

Her junior year of college she’d been horribly blindsided when her father—the man who’d been such a reliable source of security for her—had been arrested for manslaughter. By then, he was in his seventies. After his arrest, she’d come home on weekends and school vacations. However, he’d ordered her to remain at college the rest of the time as he dealt with lawyers, hearings, and eventually, his trial.

She’d been significantly more naïve then than she was now. Maybe she’d been in denial, too, because she’d believed there was no possible way her father could be guilty. She’d trusted that he’d be acquitted and that her happy life could continue unfettered.

Instead, he’d been found guilty, sentenced, and sent away. Certain that the legal system had betrayed her father, she’d pursued appeals, all of which had gone nowhere. As a girl, she’d gone to him when scared or angry or sad, and he’d made everything better. She’d been powerless to make his conviction better.

He’d tried to salvage the situation for her by liquidating his remaining stock, placing it in a trust for her, and appointing his brother as the trustee.

Robbie, an accountant, had advised her. She’d used some of the money to purchase this cabin. They’d invested the rest in a portfolio. She hadn’t dipped into that portfolio until she’d been sure that Furry Tails was a viable non-profit. Only then had she used another portion of the money to help bankroll Furry Tails’ new building.

Other than his land and his house, her father hadn’t owned anything of great value. From his parents, he’d inherited a couple of antiques. He’d driven used trucks for their utility. He’d happened upon a few small historic finds—coins, a metal vase, arrowheads—during metal detector expeditions with Robbie. He’d acquired three well-made guitars and some quality art supplies.

But, to her knowledge, none of those items came with the type of price tag that would stir the interest of dangerous people.

Breakfast finished, she ran her fingertip over the shallow dips and ledges of the writing on the front of the envelope.