The weight of it pressed into my ribs.

“If I go to the kiln, we both die.”

“If I go to the sheriff, Marcus has to play by the rules.”

“Or at least, he has to pretend to.”

Arthur leaned his iron poker against the stone hearth.

“It is your choice,” the old man said.

“But do not trust a badge just because it is shiny.”

I pulled my cell phone from my coat pocket.

My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped it on the pine floor.

I scrolled through my contacts until I found the number for the Oakhill Sheriff’s Department.

It was a direct line I kept because of my morning deliveries to the courthouse block.

I pressed call.

The phone rang three times before a tired voice answered.

“Sheriff’s office, Deputy Miller speaking.”

“Miller, it’s Kiera,” I said, my voice cracking.

“Kiera? The breakfast lady?”

“Yes,” I said. “I need to speak to Sheriff Vance. Right now.”

“Kiera, it’s nearly midnight,” Miller said.

“The Sheriff is at home in bed.”

“Call him,” I said, my tone sharpening. “Tell him I have the ledger from the Oakhill Furniture Workshop.”