J. D. and Karlie Wickman walked down the old marble hall toward the heavy front doors of the police station in silence. This argument had been going on for over a week. They both were of a right mind and a good heart on what needed to be done; the only problem was that there seemed to be more than one right way of doing it. Their two main disagreements in twenty-one years of marriage were about things that had good and logical solutions. How to discipline Angela—that had been the first. Karlie was the disciplinarian while J. D. always let up on the rules. The second? What to spend money on and how much. J. D. tended to see what had to be spent while Karlie saw what needed to be spent. If the house trim needed to be repainted every five years, then Karlie saw it as a necessity, but if the trim lasted six, J. D. saw it as a savings. Problems of the heart never entered into their disagreements, so they counted themselves lucky and learned to give a little, knowing they would eventually settle on the right solution. They would this time too, but it might take a little longer. That silent walk down the hall suggested they should let the discussion rest a few hours.

But Karlie knew they wouldn't, and the sooner they got it settled, the better. As they walked out the large wooden doors and down the steps toward their car, she fired the first gentle volley.

"I don't think you're being realistic."

"I don't think you're being reasonable," said J. D.

"Do you want to put somebody in prison? Is that your goal here?"

"Yeah, maybe. If that's the punishment for stealing, well, maybe that's where they should be."

"Oh, come on, J. D. You know these women, these girls. You like them. I like them. You know we can put a stop to this without having to play cops and robbers like some weekend schoolboys."

The car beeped as J. D unlocked the doors, and they slid into their seats; he in the driver's and she in the passenger's. J. D. stared out the windshield and checked his cell phone messages. Karlie straightened the stacks of receipts littering the floorboard, thinking about the conversation they had just had with their old high school friend, now Sergeant Bobby Caywood of the Hanson Police Department.

Bobby didn't solve their problem and didn't offer his opinion on their opposing solutions. His silence on the matter only added to the tension they were feeling from the daily money shortages. Karlie could see it in J. D.'s eyes and hear it in his voice. He was concerned not just by the losses but also by how they were going to deal with them—with the apparent theft. Of course she was concerned too, but J. D. always seemed to take business matters more to heart.

When they explained how the money was disappearing from their restaurants, Bobby suggested a couple different routes to take, but she could see he didn't like being a referee.

J. D. set his phone down and looked over at her. "You know, we really put Bobby on the spot in there today."

"Well, he's a policeman. He's used to being on the spot."

"Honey, we can solve this thing ourselves. We've got nearly a thousand dollars missing, and it has to be one of three peo—"

"J. D., let's not go over it again. You just get more upset every time, and I don't want to see you go through that. We'll do it your way. I know you want to try and catch the person responsible."

"And you want to just ask them outright if they're stealing and hope someone'll 'fess up." His face reddened again, and his voice got tighter with each word.

She put her hand on his arm. "J. D, please. Let's go home and tackle this later."

As her husband pulled out into traffic, Karlie looked out her window at the passing shops and signs and tried to remember more pleasant times. Neither she nor J. D. wanted to confront the people and the problem at hand ... but life and business don't always ask permission for the courses they take, she thought. She watched J. D. out of the corner of her eye all the way home, and it wasn't until they stopped in the driveway that she broke the silence.

"I didn't want to tell you till we got this little episode behind us today, but Angela called this morning."

"What's wrong? She find a shoe store on campus and needs more money?"

She heard his sarcasm but also the humor in his question.

"No, that would be simple." They made eye contact for the first time since getting in the car.

"She sick?"

"No, but she wants to come home." Karlie waited for his reaction.

"She's only been there three weeks. You said yourself she would get homesick and made me promise not to go get her. Have you changed your mind?"

"A girl got attacked in front of the library last night, and Angela's scared to death."

"What do you mean attacked?"

"Somebody grabbed her. Ripped her clothes. She got away, and nobody was hurt, but the whole campus is in an uproar."

"Does Angela know the girl?"

"Knows of her—she lives in the next dorm. Angela was crying and pretty upset. Says she wants to come home."

"For good or for the weekend?"

"She says for good. I said for the weekend. She wants you to call her. But before you do, let me say this: Don't give in to her. Don't go racing up there to rescue her. Let her come for the weekend, but please don't let her talk you into anything permanent."

Karlie was never fooled by the tone of her husband's voice or his words where their daughter was concerned. No matter how tough a stand he agreed to take, Karlie knew that Angela always had her daddy's heart firmly in her pocket. She could get what she wanted from him anytime and change her mind as often as she liked, and he would still find a way to see it her way. He'd complain about her being impulsive and irresponsible, but in the end he'd always cave in, excusing her behavior by saying, "But she's young...." Angela was daddy's girl—and most of the time, Karlie liked that.

J. D. sat looking at his wife for a moment, apparently waiting for more words from her. He turned off the engine, stared straight ahead again, and said, "You amaze me. You can be harder on your daughter than on an employee."

"Honey, I'm not being hard on anyone. I'm just doing what I think is right."

J. D. took a deep breath and opened the car door. "I'll call her and see if she needs to come home."

Home was Hanson, North Carolina, and always had been. Hanson wasn't a big town, but it was growing enough that J. D. and Karlie no longer knew most of the merchants on Main Street. The last census had come in around twenty-eight thousand, and with all the industrial growth on the outskirts, the population could easily double in the next decade or two. J. D. and Karlie had both gone to elementary and high school here, then away to college and back. They married in a local church and started a home in the neighborhood where they had grown up. Both business majors, they had always shared a dream of opening a restaurant. This dream had come true five years ago, and now there were two restaurants: The Dining Club—Downtown and The Dining Club—West End. Their restaurants kept them busy but happy and, thankfully, successful at the same time. But happy was a relative term. The headaches and worry of running a business might bring fulfillment, but as J. D. and Karlie found out, those things could also keep a person's blood pressure at the top of the chart. The recent discovery of money...