Eight Thousand Gallons of Milk and a Small Blue Ledger

rattled the spare bolts on the workbench. He had gone through the logbooks twice before I arrived, his thumb leaving greasy smudges on the clean white pages.

“Gregory had the boys move some crates last Tuesday,” Wayne said, wiping his palms on a red shop rag. “I assumed they went to the scrap yard, but the receipt book is blank.”

“He would not scrap continue reading …