have a bruise on his wrist?”
“Boys will be boys,” Jerry said. “They’re active kids, always getting into trouble. Jonah says the boys are clumsy. They take after their mother, I guess.”
I don’t think so, Josie thought. What I saw tonight was horrible. I’m not making excuses for Jonah. I’m calling the child protection agency and the Humane Society of Missouri. I’m reporting Jonah for cruelty to children and animals.
She felt better now that her mind was made up. She had the power to stop this horror. She wondered if she could make Jerry open his eyes and really see Jonah Deerford.
“Why didn’t you buy your pup from Jonah?” she asked.
“Like I said, he raises girlie dogs. And he charges too much. His teacup poodles drive you crazy with their yapping. Their bones are so brittle, one dog broke her leg jumping off a chair.
“The only dog I’d consider buying from him was a dachshund, but they like to dig. If one dug up my yard, my landlady would shoot me. Besides, I had a dachshund as a kid. It had back problems. Goes with the breed. Poor dog needed surgery. I’d rather have a good, healthy mutt like Chloe.”
He gave his nonpedigreed pup a pat. Chloe seemed fat and happy compared to the sad, well-bred prisoners in the farmhouse.
As they pulled out of Jonah’s yard, they heard a long, lonely howl rise from the house. The hair rose on Josie’s neck.
Chloe threw back her own head and answered. The howl died in the dark winter woods.
Chapter 12
Jerry’s truck landed on the paved road with a bolt-rattling thud. Amelia clung to Chloe to keep the puppy from falling on the floor, and Josie put an arm out to protect her daughter.
They were on a winding, two-lane road at the bottom of a wooded hill—a paved road, finally. A streetlight outlined a silver septic tank next to a split-level home.
Civilization, Josie thought.
Jonah’s rutted road went back into another world, one she hoped she’d never visit again. Josie shuddered when she thought of those poor, cowed boys with their dirty clothes and cold-reddened hands. Jonah’s sons had no boyish mischief, no playful banter with their father. Bart and Billy also had no childhood. They were condemned to work at their father’s kennels. The man wouldn’t even buy them warm coats.
Boys. Josie remembered Edna’s words the day she died: He complains about his help. He says the boys don’t work hard enough. He’s such a horrible man. I’m sure that’s how he talks about black people.
Jonah Deerford was a horrible man. But he wasn’t talking about black people. He was complaining about his own sons. Their sad faces stuck in her mind. The boys seemed to be begging for help. Where was their family?
“Do Bart and Billy have any grandparents?” Josie asked when they were cruising along the road.
“Jonah’s parents are both dead,” Jerry said. “He inherited their farm and saved it from the IRS. His wife’s parents are old hippies who live somewhere out west. When Allegra ran away, Lance and Linda wanted to take the boys and raise them, but Jonah refused. He said they’d turn the kids into wusses.”
And Jonah would lose his cheap help, Josie thought.
“There’s some bad blood there,” Jerry said. “Lance and Linda said their daughter would never leave her children and they reported her missing. They filed for custody of the boys, but they live on some kind of New Agey commune and that didn’t sit well with the Missouri judge. Jonah said those kinds of people used drugs. He told the court that the boys were homeschooled in a Christian manner and did their chores. Jonah’s minister testified that those boys were in church every Sunday. Jonah got custody of the boys. The grandparents said they’d fight him in court, but they ran out of money. They didn’t even have steady jobs. They weren’t a good influence. Boys need discipline and the judge agreed with Jonah.”
“He did seem a little hard on the boys,” Josie said, proud
“Boys will be boys,” Jerry said. “They’re active kids, always getting into trouble. Jonah says the boys are clumsy. They take after their mother, I guess.”
I don’t think so, Josie thought. What I saw tonight was horrible. I’m not making excuses for Jonah. I’m calling the child protection agency and the Humane Society of Missouri. I’m reporting Jonah for cruelty to children and animals.
She felt better now that her mind was made up. She had the power to stop this horror. She wondered if she could make Jerry open his eyes and really see Jonah Deerford.
“Why didn’t you buy your pup from Jonah?” she asked.
“Like I said, he raises girlie dogs. And he charges too much. His teacup poodles drive you crazy with their yapping. Their bones are so brittle, one dog broke her leg jumping off a chair.
“The only dog I’d consider buying from him was a dachshund, but they like to dig. If one dug up my yard, my landlady would shoot me. Besides, I had a dachshund as a kid. It had back problems. Goes with the breed. Poor dog needed surgery. I’d rather have a good, healthy mutt like Chloe.”
He gave his nonpedigreed pup a pat. Chloe seemed fat and happy compared to the sad, well-bred prisoners in the farmhouse.
As they pulled out of Jonah’s yard, they heard a long, lonely howl rise from the house. The hair rose on Josie’s neck.
Chloe threw back her own head and answered. The howl died in the dark winter woods.
Chapter 12
Jerry’s truck landed on the paved road with a bolt-rattling thud. Amelia clung to Chloe to keep the puppy from falling on the floor, and Josie put an arm out to protect her daughter.
They were on a winding, two-lane road at the bottom of a wooded hill—a paved road, finally. A streetlight outlined a silver septic tank next to a split-level home.
Civilization, Josie thought.
Jonah’s rutted road went back into another world, one she hoped she’d never visit again. Josie shuddered when she thought of those poor, cowed boys with their dirty clothes and cold-reddened hands. Jonah’s sons had no boyish mischief, no playful banter with their father. Bart and Billy also had no childhood. They were condemned to work at their father’s kennels. The man wouldn’t even buy them warm coats.
Boys. Josie remembered Edna’s words the day she died: He complains about his help. He says the boys don’t work hard enough. He’s such a horrible man. I’m sure that’s how he talks about black people.
Jonah Deerford was a horrible man. But he wasn’t talking about black people. He was complaining about his own sons. Their sad faces stuck in her mind. The boys seemed to be begging for help. Where was their family?
“Do Bart and Billy have any grandparents?” Josie asked when they were cruising along the road.
“Jonah’s parents are both dead,” Jerry said. “He inherited their farm and saved it from the IRS. His wife’s parents are old hippies who live somewhere out west. When Allegra ran away, Lance and Linda wanted to take the boys and raise them, but Jonah refused. He said they’d turn the kids into wusses.”
And Jonah would lose his cheap help, Josie thought.
“There’s some bad blood there,” Jerry said. “Lance and Linda said their daughter would never leave her children and they reported her missing. They filed for custody of the boys, but they live on some kind of New Agey commune and that didn’t sit well with the Missouri judge. Jonah said those kinds of people used drugs. He told the court that the boys were homeschooled in a Christian manner and did their chores. Jonah’s minister testified that those boys were in church every Sunday. Jonah got custody of the boys. The grandparents said they’d fight him in court, but they ran out of money. They didn’t even have steady jobs. They weren’t a good influence. Boys need discipline and the judge agreed with Jonah.”
“He did seem a little hard on the boys,” Josie said, proud
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