Down by the River by Robyn Carr

him his marriage. He and Brianna had started out in good shape. She drew a respectable salary as a schoolteacher and it balanced against his modest income quite well. They even managed a little savings toward their future together. But their biggest mistake was falling into that conservative old habit of letting the man manage the money. Harry was simply miserable at it. He always paid the higher interest as he juggled the bills, ended up wasting money on nonsense, invested in losers, passed by winners. Ultimately they were in a deep hole.
    “We’ll just have to take the money out of our savings, Harry, and from now on, I’ll be paying the bills.”
    He would never forget the look on her face when he told her there was no longer any savings. His investments were supposed to be sure things; they had been sure flops.
    She was devastated. So they sold their house, paid off the debts, restocked the savings account and started over.
    Harry had meant to surprise her by recouping the money. He found a couple of investments that should have paid off in less than six months. To hedge against failure, he spread the money around, a diversified and balanced portfolio. To his delight, a couple of his long shots came in high, doubling his investments, so he set up some margin calls. Then he had to liquidate a little to pay a debt. A couple of investments cratered and he liquidated other stocks to buy at a low, sold some stocks short and, wouldn’t you know, they came in high, causing him a loss. He had some markers called in, exercised a couple of margin calls, had some options come due…
    “What?” she had screamed at him. “You lost the savings? Again?”
    “It wasn’t supposed to go like that,” he’d said lamely.
    So she left him. He could hardly blame her. It wasn’t a question of love, they loved each other still. And if they’d had children together, she would have set up a college fund and he would have blown it on some bet or investment or long shot that was supposed to pay off big. Every once in a while he thought his luck was changing, then wham! Down he’d tumble again.
    If it weren’t for money, Harry would have a perfect life. He loved God, loved his church, lovedthe people, loved the work. He was never happier or more at peace than when he was kneeling, or in a pulpit delivering a meaningful and uplifting message to the flock, or when helping someone with a problem or need. But too soon that part of his life would pass and he would grapple with paying the bills again.
    He had a hundred bucks, an overdrawn checking account and credit card bills due. Grace Valley was a chance for a fresh start, if only he could turn things around. If he could just pay his bills, he’d never take another chance on anything. He’d hire one of those money-manager types who would collect his paycheck and dole out an allowance, and he’d never stray off his budget. Never.
    He opened his top desk drawer and took out a racing form. It had worked before, it could work again. He had a really good tip on a horse. If he came in, he swore to God he wouldn’t place another bet. He punched the numbers on the phone.
     
    Tom was alone in the police department, sitting at his desk in his office, which was the largest bedroom in the converted three-bedroom house. One deputy was on patrol and the other was resting so he could work that night. Tom, whose day had started even earlier than usual, was just thinking about lunch when he heard the tinkling of the bell on the front door. “Back here,” he yelled, pen poised over paper.
    A loud snort that fell into a snore issued from oneof the two other bedrooms that had been converted into a cell. The bed was being used by Rob Gilmore. He’d had a little too much to drink the night before and his wife, Jennie, had locked him out of the house and called the police chief.
    Tom looked up and waited. Whoever had come by was sure taking his time. Tom didn’t hear any footfalls, but he could hear the