Free The Deposit Slip by Todd M. Johnson Page A

arguments over the years, and he soon launched a new subject.
    “So, does that same legal secretary still work with you?”
    “Jessie. Yeah. She’s stuck it out with me so far.”
    His father’s face was tanned under white hair. He looked younger than his sixty years. Maybe lost a few pounds too. Working outside agreed with him, Jared thought.
    “Dating anybody?” his father asked.
    “No. It’s been pretty busy since I left the other firm.”
    “I don’t remember you dating anyone when you were at that other firm either.”
    When Jared remained silent following his last comment, Samuel smiled, looking embarrassed, and asked, “So why are you here in Ashley?”
    This was the reason he’d made this pilgrimage in the first place. If he was going to consider a case that would land him in Ashley for a while, he wouldn’t just sneak in and out of town. He had to let his dad know he might be around.
    “I’m looking at a case up here.”
    His dad nodded, looking uncertain how much he could ask. “So, can you tell me about it?”
    Jared explained about the case, repeatedly making clear he was only considering it.
    “What happened with that other big case you were handling? I thought that was coming up for trial.”
    Jared had never told his dad the Wheeler case had gone to trial, nor the result, but wasn’t sure why. Right now, whatever his father thought was of no consequence to him. “It went away. Dismissed.”
    His dad moved on. Within half an hour, they’d run out of safe topics. The longer Jared sat in this room, surrounded by skeletal relics of the family, the more old feelings welled up. This was why his dad never stayed with him when visiting Minneapolis. Samuel never asked and Jared never offered. With years of practice, they had discovered their margins of safety and respected them.
    “I’ve got to go—early morning,” Jared said at last and stood to leave. His dad followed.
    “Talk to your mom lately?” Samuel asked.
    This was not one of the safe topics, and Jared felt a tug of annoyance.
    “Some. I visited her over Fourth of July.”
    They approached the door together.
    “I spoke to your mother last week. Sounds like she’s moving into a new townhouse north of downtown Columbus. Likes her new job too.”
    Sam made it all sound so normal—as though she would emerge any moment from the kitchen with tea and cookies and join in the conversation. Jared felt his restraint slipping.
    “I may give her a call tonight,” Samuel went on.
    Jared was nearly out of the door when the words tumbled out, razor-edged.
    “Dad, are you going to divorce Mom one of these days? It’s been seven years since you separated.”
    His father looked startled. “Your mother’s never asked.”
    “Have you offered?”
    “No,” Sam said, staring. “But the church, Jared. I don’t know what they’d think about it.”
    “Well, did you check with the church before you stole the money, Dad?” Jared lashed back.
    The worst thing when Jared let his anger speak was looking into his dad’s eyes. They showed no fight, only a rush of unexpected pain. It drained all the satisfaction out of the rage, seeing his dad like a fighter who wouldn’t raise his gloves.
    “Forget it,” Jared said, retreating out the door and onto the front step. “I’ll let you know when I’m coming back into town.”
    As he dropped into his car seat, rammed the car into drive, and sped away up the cul-de-sac, he expected the satisfaction of righteous anger. Instead, he felt only the whisper of something that might have been shame.

10

    J ared’s cell went off at nine the following day. He didn’t expect anyone to call on a Sunday morning, and nearly didn’t answer when the caller ID was unfamiliar.
    “Hello?”
    “Mr. Neaton?” a cautious voice asked.
    “Yeah.”
    “It’s Richard. Richard Towers. I’m an investigator. I’ve worked with Phil Olney.”
    The voice was so quiet that Jared was forced to press the phone hard against his