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a bond with him. Plus there’s this thing on the wall…” My voice drifted off as I realized how silly it might sound to tell her about Clayton’s old growth chart and how it had always made me feel connected with him in some strange way. “You’d have to see it, I guess.”
    â€œWhat? What is it?” Her eyes were wide with interest.
    I shrugged, feeling embarrassed, and told her I would show her later.
    She frowned in mock displeasure as she handed me my hat. I fit it onto my head, gathered the last few things I needed, and followed her to the kitchen. She grabbed a paper bag from the counter—sandwiches she had made for me while I’d freshened up—and we continued on outside. When we reached the end of the driveway, we sat on the bench in front of the store and I ate my lunch as we waited for the hired car to arrive. Daed joined us just as the vehicle was turning into the parking lot.
    As my father stood and greeted the driver, I crumpled the wax paper that had been around my sandwiches and handed it to Amanda.
    â€œSay a prayer for us,” I told her.
    â€œI will.”
    I got into the car and settled into my seat next to Daed . As we drove off, my mind again returned to the clockmaker, this stranger whose life had somehow intersected with mine even though he moved away from Ridgeview more than thirty years before I was born.
    Where had he gone when he fled Lancaster County? Was he still alive now? And had he really killed his wife and gotten away with it?
    As the scenery flew past, I put away such questions, praying that once we met with the lawyer, none of it would matter anyway.

    When we reached the address on Mr. Purcell’s card, I decided it had to be one of the biggest, fanciest buildings in Lancaster City. The entire third floor belonged to the law office, and we stepped out of the elevator doors into a reception area that had marble floors, big oak furniture, and elegant decor.Even the people who worked there were fancy. The woman at the front desk had on a suit that looked more like something a person might wear in New York City than around here.
    As soon as I gave her our names, she brought us through the main doors and down a hallway lined with offices. When we approached the end, she knocked on a door with the nameplate “James T. Purcell” on it. The door swung open, and there stood the lawyer I had spoken with earlier. I was expecting someone equally as fancy as the surrounding building and the receptionist, but this guy looked like a short, unkempt Santa Claus.
    He welcomed us with a shake and a smile. His was a corner office, and as we stepped inside my eyes went to the big windows that looked out over downtown Lancaster. The view was nice, and it even included the tip of the county courthouse up the street.
    Mr. Purcell took his place behind a beautiful mahogany desk and then gestured toward a pair of plush chairs across from it. “Please. Have a seat.”
    Once we were settled, I pulled out our documents from the manila file and handed them over.
    As he took them from me, he began to give us a little background on Starbrite Management Group, saying they were based in California and had been in business for more than twenty years. He explained that the company had its own in-house legal counsel, but that his firm had been hired to handle local matters such as this one. “I made some calls after we spoke this morning,” he added, “and I think I have a pretty good feel for what’s going on here.”
    â€œI’m glad someone does,” Daed quipped, causing the lawyer to smile.
    I wasn’t smiling. “What’s going on,” I said, “is that we’re being taken advantage of by your client.”
    â€œI know it looks that way,” he said as he handed back the papers. “And I do want to assure you that this situation is in no way your fault.” He removed his reading glasses and placed them