Seven Crumpled Dollar Bills on a Pine Table in Michigan

Tyler,” Mike said.

“He always finds us,” Tyler whispered. “He has a key ring that makes a noise when he walks.”

The next morning, the cold wind off Lake Mitchell smelled of damp pine as Mike drove his old black pickup toward the north side of Cadillac. He turned onto Elm Street, where Sarah and Donald rented a small gray house with continue reading …