CHAPTER EIGHT
The following afternoon, Sandy paced nervously in her bedroom, desperately trying to figure out a solution to her problem. Last night had been such a miserable failure ... it would kill Peter if he knew now. There had to be a better way of his finding out . . . she could not go on the way she had for the past few weeks.
The ominous sound of the telephone reached her ears and a tight knot formed in the pit of her stomach. She rushed to pick up the receiver before either Ruth or Martha could reach it.
"Hello, Mrs. Luden," the voice began, "or may I call you Sandy?" The ugly laughter that followed assured Sandy that it was indeed Grover Jackson. "I've been thinking about our little arrangement," he continued, "and I think we can arrange for you to work off the rest of your de
