Final Deposit by Lisa Harris Page B

number you could call to find out?”
    She looked at the letter again. “Here. Max Banks. He’s an old friend of Dad’s—he included his cell number. Maybe he’ll tell me something.”
    She flipped open her cell phone and punched in the numbers. He answered on the third ring.
    â€œMr. Banks, this is Lindsey Taylor, George Taylor’s daughter.”
    â€œLindsey. How are you?”
    â€œI’m fine, thanks, though my father’s in the hospital.”
    â€œI’m sorry. Is he going to be all right?”
    â€œI think he’ll be home in a few days.” She rushed on with the reason for her call. “As you know, I have power of attorney for my father, and I need to ask you about something, if you have a moment. I just received the letter regarding his canceling his insurance policy.”
    â€œOh, yes. I was sorry to lose your father’s business. He’s been a great customer all these years, but even I couldn’t blame him for the deal he got on that boat. I say if you’re going to retire, you might as well enjoy it.”
    â€œA boat?” Surely her father hadn’t sold his life-insurance policy to buy some seaworthy vessel.
    â€œMahogany hull, twin diesel engines…” He let out a low whistle. “Your father had me wishing I could retire.”
    â€œA boat?” she repeated.
    â€œYou sound surprised.” His voice cracked. “Don’t tell me this was a surprise?”
    â€œHonestly, I…” Lindsey didn’t know how to respond.
    â€œHe got the check, didn’t he? We mailed it to him early last week.”
    â€œI don’t know, to be honest.” Her chest began to constrict. “Could you tell me exactly how much money the policy was worth?”
    There was a short pause on the line. “Just over sixty-five thousand dollars.”

TEN
    S ixty-five thousand dollars.
    Lindsey tried to focus on the lively discussion about II Corinthians 4 currently under way in the singles’ Sunday-school class at her church, but she couldn’t shake that dollar amount. Or the dozens of questions flying around in her mind. She scribbled down the questions in the notebook she kept in her Bible for taking sermon notes. Why had her father canceled the policy? Had he cashed the check? If so, what had he done with the money? And why didn’t he trust her enough to talk to her about it?
    Her temples pounded. She pressed her fingertips against her forehead and massaged, trying to alleviate the pain. Sixty-five thousand dollars couldn’t vanish into thin air. And there were only four options she could think of. She made another column on the page and started a bulleted list. One: Her father still had the check. Two: He’d cashed the check and stashed the money somewhere. Three: He’d wired the money to Abraham Omah, though so far they hadn’t found a corresponding Western Union receipt. Or four: He’d paid the money to someone he’d borrowed from.
    But if the last option were true, who had he borrowed from?
    She tapped the pen against the paper, wishing that the answers would come as easily as the questions. Sixty-five thousand dollars was a lot of money. That much money could have supplied plenty of motivation to whoever broke in to her father’s house. She shook her head. It seemed that the more she tried to understand what her father was up against, the more daunting the reality became.
    She stole a peek at Kyle, sitting beside her with his Bible open, obviously interested in the topic. She suddenly felt very unspiritual. Coming to church today had been a concession. She’d rather have been at the hospital interrogating her father—the only thing that stopped her was the doctor’s strict orders that he rest. So she’d accepted Kyle’s offer to bring her to church. But listening to a lesson, no matter how good it might be, was the last thing she felt like doing. Not