Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

I said.

She stopped searching for the tissue and looked up, her mouth slightly open.

“You mean you are not going to report it?” she asked.

“The sheriff will not hear of it from me,” I said. “But you will bring me proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“You and Greg will enroll in the county budget counseling program,” I said. “The one at the courthouse. I want to see continue reading …