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if you’ll be able to verify that.”
    That statement left him almost speechless, enough so that he stammered over his next words. “I…I…I am Pete Guthrie and this building is owned by Guthrie Foods.”
    “Wrong!” the thief said, moving closer and into the shaft of light. “This property belongs to Walt Wolkowicz. You Guthries just think you own the whole town.”
    Pete could see her face now, framed by a faded Pacers cap, and he recognized it. She was one of Wolkowicz’s daughters. In high school Pete and his buddies had called them “the retard twins.” There was the “math retard” and the “retard retard.” Though he hadn’t seen her in years, this was obviously Ms. Math, looking very much like she always had. Geeky, skinny and wearing men’s clothes. What was her name? The question bounced around Pete’s brain. It was aguy’s name that could be used for a girl. Billie or Jamie? No it started with an A.
    “You’re…uh…you’re Alex, right? Alex Wolkowicz.”
    “Andi,” she answered, a steely annoyance evident in her voice. “And you’re Pete Guthrie, just like you said. Though I wouldn’t have recognized you. I guess all those Mallomars have finally begun to catch up with you.”
    Pete was startled. How could this person, whose name he hadn’t been able to recall, remember his addiction to Mallomars? He decided to ignore that question in favor of something more pertinent.
    “Where did you get this key and what are you doing inside here?” he asked. “Your family may feel attached to this place, but we own it.”
    “Nope,” she answered. “Sorry, that’s not true.”
    “Yes, it is,” Pete answered. “It happened years ago. I was away at college…maybe you were, too. Your father sold it to my father. Ask him.”
    “I did ask him,” Andi answered. “He says that your father never paid him and so the deal never went through, the deed was never transferred. We’ve been paying the taxes and so…and so it’s ours.”
    Pete was surprised. And when it came to things that he ought to know, he really didn’t like to be surprised. He was sure his dad had made a deal. Surely he wouldn’t have just dropped it. He scanned his memory for some piece of evidence supporting what he’d always thought was, in fact, true. Nothing immediately came to mind.
    “Well, if what you’re saying is correct, and I don’t know that it is, I’m sure it was an oversight,” he told her.
    “Yeah, oversight, I’m sure that’s what it was,” Andi replied, her tone ripe with inexplicable sarcasm. “It makes total sense that the high and mighty Guthries would completely overlook a regular guy like Walt Wolkowicz.”
    “Excuse me? The ‘high and mighty Guthries’? What in the devil are you talking about?”
    “You wouldn’t have pulled a crappy business trick like this with one of your cronies from the country club,” she answered venomously. “Because my pop’s a decent hardworking guy who would never be any threat to you, you were totally free to treat him shabbily. Well, I’m not about to be as generous to you as he would. Get off my property!”

Chapter 3
    IT WAS THE middle of the afternoon and Walt was in a hurry. They’d finished all the lunch deliveries at meals on wheels and he’d brought Jelly home. He’d planned to make a quick getaway, but his daughter had plans for laundry.
    “This is Wednesday, wash day,” she said, incredulous with his suggestion that it might wait until tomorrow. “It rhymes, Pop. My wash day is Wednesday. That’s the rule.”
    Walt knew better than to try to go against a “rule.” By necessity, in his daughter’s life the three Rs were not reading, writing and ’rithmetic, all of which were beyond her grasp. Instead, her life worked due to regimen, routine and rules.
    “All right,” he agreed. “Let’s get your laundry started, but let’s hurry.”
    “We don’t hurry, Pop,” she reminded him. “We take our time and do it right.”
    With a