“If you mention my name again, I promise you’ll be going straight back to prison.”
My sister said it calmly, the way you’d tell someone their shoe was untied.
Then she tossed a thick white envelope onto the grass in front of my feet. It landed with a soft thump. One corner had torn open, and I could see the edges of hundred-dollar bills inside, wrapped in a rubber band.
I was standing in Opal Hargrove’s backyard in Worthington with a wet bedsheet in my hands and two clothespins in
