Chapter Thirteen
Rebecca’s father no longer had farm dogs to announce the arrival of guests and to harass and frighten anyone who approached the house and to bark and growl until he told them to stop unless the visitor was someone who needed to be barked at and growled at.
Even without noisy dogs to sound the alert, he knew someone was coming when he heard the car crunching down the gravel drive before he saw it; a big black Mercedes creeping and slithering toward his house like some terrifying creature on the hunt for prey.
He went out onto the front porch as the car stopped and brought his shotgun, which he leaned against the porch rail. It was unloaded, but the occupant of the black car didn’t know that.
“Hello, Mr. Brown,” shouted the lawyer as he stood up from the car, standing be
