Poor girl. She was so shaken up—so riddled with guilt—that she couldn’t even face us to make her confession in person. We found the note on her pillow:
Next to it, and no longer attached to the pillow, was the evidence of her crime:
So there she was, only nine years old and quaking in her boots. How do I know she was scared half to death, imagining a life in prison with nothing but bread and water and the sound of rats scurrying by? Easy. When I was her age, I removed the tag from the hair dryer.