Tuesday,
January 14th
Bill slipped in as quietly as he could. He tipped toed
to his room and tried to undress in the dark. After a few moments, Sophie
flipped on the bedside lamp. “Sorry,” he commented.
“Don’t worry about it.”
He unclipped his holster from the inside of his jeans
and tucked it and his .38 inside the same box that held his service weapon and
holster. He pulled pants out for use in the morning and tucked his wallet in
the back pocket. “Just so you know,” he said, pulling his hooded sweatshirt
over his head, “I stopped at Pinkies’ to interview a witness. I didn’t order anything.”
“Okay,” she said, quietly.
He growled and sat on the bed to work on his shoes. He
had them off in a blink, and was up on his feet again in no time. He began to
work on his belt, pull it through the loops of his pants and unthread his
handcuffs, pepper spray, badge and other implements he needed in his work.
“Can you talk about it?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“You’re frustrated.”
He shook it off. Once changed he crawled into bed next
to her. She flipped off the light and pushed up close. “You get your papers
graded?” he asked as he tried to force the irritation of a fruitless night from
his bones.
“No. I’ll have to do it over the weekend.”
"You’re working more on the weekends than usual. What
is it? Can you give less assignments or something?”
“Oh. I’ve been tutoring Mikey after school.”
“Mikey?” He turned towards her in surprise. He needed
to think. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can’t sleep when you’re gone
anyway.” She wrapped her arm about him and gave him a small hug. “Bill?”
“Huh?”
“Happy Birthday.”
***
Red awoke bright and early. After a few moments, he
congratulated himself. He didn’t dream about Willie, or anyone else. He was
free. No more Willie. No more dreams.
***
Tim pulled his own vehicle out of the car wash lot on
123rd just as Borenstein pulled out of his apartment building parking lot. Tim
let two cars get between them, and tried to maintain that. Borenstein used his
signals properly, drove the proper speed and didn’t pass in no passing zones.
Two miles down the road, he turned into World Reddee Transport. Tim turned
right and swung back to Portland.
***
Marie hurried back to her cell. She had another of
Mikey’s letters in her pocket and she couldn’t wait to read it. This time he
wrote with a red pen on that paper they give kids to draw on with crayons. The
words were sloppy and sloped up on the page. ‘Dear Mommy,’ he wrote. ‘Yes! Your
coming home. I can’t wait! Grandma told me yesterday. She said that you have to
change the way you think though. I don’t know what she meant. I’m just happy.
Oh, and my teacher says that my report card is going to be real good. I hope
so. I want you to be proud. Sophie has been helping me with my homework. Don’t
tell Dad or Grandma. They don’t like Sophie. I love you. I can’t wait to see
you. Your son, Mikey.’
Marie hung onto the letter for a few extra moments.
She prayed that she could come home, and not disappoint Mikey. Her hearing was
only a couple of weeks away, but the prospect of seeing Mikey, Tina and Cory
again, made it seem like an eternity.
She had to laugh though, because she’d cry otherwise.
What didn’t her mother understand? Between ages five and eighteen, Marie had
three stepfathers. Where was her mother’s behavior different from her own? From
one man to another. And with each man her mother brought home, Marie became a
bigger target. Her real father ran out on her. Her first stepfather ignored
her, her second beat her. The third molested her. Her mother would have none of
it. If a man said something to her, or accused her of something, than according
to her mother, that man must be right.
Marie’s worst fear was that she couldn’t put aside her
past and make a new future. Could she not follow the same pattern that she had
always followed? Could she not get mixed up with the wrong guy again and again?
And could she forgive her mother for her own silliness?
***
At two thirty, Bill signed out. At two forty, he
signed in as a visitor at Taft Middle School. He was directed down the hall to
his right, and about a corner. Her classroom was somewhere further down. He
passed a teacher and asked for directions again. He was sent on, this time
down another corridor and around another corner. When he finally found a sign
outside of a classroom that said, ‘Grade 7, Social Studies, Mrs. Ramos’, he
sighed, wondering how his wife tackled this maze morning after morning, and
every afternoon besides.
He stepped in. Seeing that she was busy with another
teacher, he rapped on the open door. She came about and smiled. “Hi,” he said.
“What are you doing here?”
“In the neighborhood. Just thought I’d drop in.”
“Oh?” She introduced the other woman. “Mary Clark,”
she said. “My husband, Bill Ramos.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
“Nice to meet you.” He glanced about. “So, when is it
that you and Mikey get together?”
"Oh,” Sophie nodded at her friend. “Mary is Mikey’s
teacher. Apparently he isn’t feeling well. His grandmother called him in today.”
“Oh.” That was awkward. He glanced at his watch. “Got
to get back.”
“Oh.” That was awkward again. “So, you stopped in to
see Mikey?”
“You said his grades were coming up. I just wanted to
tell him good work.”
“I said I was tutoring him.”
He shrugged. “Same thing.”
She shifted away to look at her friend. “Guilarmo,”
she said after a moment.
“Sophia.”
***
Pam Pratt skipped eighth period. If her Mom found out,
she’d be in bigger trouble than usual. Something Willow told her during one of
the few times they actually got along. Mom could put up with almost anything.
Just don’t screw up at school. Pam cut out a side door at Roosevelt, and
hurried down Elm Street. She could make it to the police station, a good mile
away, in about twenty minutes if she hurried, and God help her, if she didn’t
get caught by a train.
Luck was with her. Not only did she cross two sets of
tracks just prior to trains blocking off either set, but she made it to the
station just in time to catch that one cop she saw on TV. “Excuse me,” she
called.
The man, a Hispanic, turned about. “Can I help you?”
he asked.
He wore a silver bar on his black leather jacket that
said his name, G. Ramos.
“Are you Mrs. Ramos’s husband? I mean the teacher?”
He nodded and smiled in a really nice way. “Guilty.”
“My name is Pam Pratt,” she said, “And I gotta talk to
someone.”
“Pam.” The man nodded at her to follow him. At the
door, he opened it for her. He unlocked the next door with his own key, and
held it open again. “Give me one moment,” he said, stepping aside. He hurried
to a peg board type of thing and moved a peg by his name. He disappeared for a
moment, but then returned to waive her in. She noticed immediately that he no
longer wore a gun under his jacket. She followed him up a flight of stairs, and
past a secretary who held up messages for him. “Hold my calls,” he said as he
took her notes.
Inside an office with a window that looked out on the
secretary, he closed the door. “Have a seat,” he said, indicating a chair with
the cap he took off. He hung that and his jacket on a coat rack that stood
behind his desk. “So, what can I help you with?” he asked as he sat.
“I’m here about my sister.”
“I wish I had something to offer you. Just the photos
from last night.”
“Any idea who those people are?”
“They’re out of Cairo, way down state. Talked to the
Cairo PD this morning. They think this pair is a couple of local malcontents.
No one we need to worry about.”
“Okay.” Pam nodded. “So you don’t know any more than
you did before?”
“We’re working on it. Tell you the truth though, I don’t
think it’s wise to discuss the details of our investigation. No offense. It’s
ongoing. It’s being worked on as we sit here.”
Pam nodded. Turning to her coat, she began to play
with her frayed belt. “I understand. It’s just that psychic. My parents called
her.”
“Oh?”
“You see the news the other night? She was there
passing out flyers on Friday. It just seems too convenient, that’s all. My
parents are desperate. They’re willing to try anything at this point.”
“You’re afraid they’re going to get ripped off?”
“Big time.”
“Unfortunately, until they do get ripped off, there’s
not much I can do.”
“She says that she’s worked with a lot of the police
departments in the area. Even Portland.”
Ramos shook his head. “She hasn’t worked with us. At
least not in the last twenty years that I’ve been here. And I doubt you’ll find
that she’s worked with any other police department in this district. Believe it
or not, we are fairly interconnected.” He began to rock in his chair. “One of
the unfortunate situations that occur when someone disappears, is that people
who think they can profit from a family’s pain come out of the woodwork. I don’t
honestly know if there is such a thing as a real ‘psychic.’ There’s a lot of
phonies, though.”
Pam nodded. “You think she’s a phony?”
"If she said she’s worked with the Portland police
department, then I guarantee she’s a liar.”
***
Red got off at five and hurried home. He had picked up
paint remover on his lunch hour and couldn’t wait to try it on the floor. He
grabbed a burger on his way, and wolfed it down as he drove.
He grabbed his bag from the truck and headed directly
to the garage. He stopped dead half way across his back yard. A coyote blocked
the path to the garage. “Shoo,” he hissed at it. It growled. The hair on its
back bristled. The hair on Red’s back stood on end. He took a tiny step
forward, and the beast lurched up. “Shoo. Get out of here!” It growled and
crouched into an attack position. Red backed away.
***
Pam came to dinner uneasily. “I think,” her mother
began, “That I have a buyer for my car. You know that man at the grocery store
on the corner? He said he’d give me five hundred. There’s the Christmas fund. I
have about a hundred in it at this point. I take that and they’ll hit me with a
penalty for early withdrawal. What else is there?”
Pam’s Dad nodded throughout her mother’s description
and actually added to it. “I can borrow, I think.”
“Why?” Pam demanded. “What do you think you can do
with this?”
“Pamela, honestly,” Mom began. “You’d think you don’t
want your sister home.”
“I do. I just don’t trust this woman.”
Mom turned, her arm out, her expression was a study of
faith. “How can you not? She’s helped a lot of other families.”
“Not according to Chief Ramos.”
“Who?”
“The Chief of Police. I talked to him this afternoon.
He says she never worked for Portland Police like she said.”
“Maybe before he came here?”
“He’s been here twenty years, he said. You remember my
teacher from school? Mrs. Ramos? The blonde lady that taught social studies at
Taft? This is her husband. He’s been here for twenty years. He says he knows a
lot of other police chiefs in the area, and they never heard of her either.”
Mom started to shake her head. Dad, though, that look
came over him. He was changing his mind. Or maybe he wasn’t going to make up
his mind at all.
“Chief Ramos said that when something bad happens like
this, that people come out of the woodwork, thinking they can make money off of
people’s troubles.”
Mom shook her head more. “No, if she was really a
problem, then they’d stop her.”
“He says he can’t stop her until she does something
wrong. Don’t do this. Don’t give her any money.”
“Harry,” Mom called, “Talk to your daughter. Tell her
what we’re doing.”
Dad shook his head and turned away. “I don’t know.
Maybe Pam is right.”
“Damnit, Harry,” Mom cried. “Don’t turn yellow on me
now.”
***
Sophie made roast beef with peppers, onions, tomatoes
and mashed potatoes, just the way Bill’s mother made it. Of course if she
skipped the meat and vegetables, he’d be happy. His favorite food was the
potatoes.
This night, she decided, was for Bill, the kids and
her. After the long evening he had the day before, he needed rest. He finished
his shower and sat down to eat. Shortly after that she found him sound asleep
in his recliner in the front room.
“He promised,” Tina complained, crossing her arms over
a book and stamping one foot.
“Never mind that,” Sophie admonished. “You come with
me. Both of you.” The kids followed her to the kitchen and together worked on
frosting and decorating the cake she baked earlier in the afternoon. It wasn’t
what Tina planned, but it satisfied her. “Go,” Sophie ordered the pair. “Get
the afghan, it’s in my room. And put it on him. Don’t wake him though.”
*
She walked into his office and stopped at the door.
She held a boot in one hand and wore its mate on the opposite foot. Bill hung
up the phone. Turning to her, he planned to give her his full attention. Her
head though. It was hard to look at her and not stare. A big chunk was missing.
She was bloody and her hair was matted, and tangled with leaves and twigs. She
shifted the boot from one hand to the other, and used bony fingers to push her
hair behind one ear. From what he could see, the other ear was missing. Her
clothing, a pink sweater and jeans, were torn and covered with leaves and
twigs. Whatever it was she had to say, he missed it. “Where the hell have you
been?” he demanded. “You have any idea how many people are looking for you?”
“Ah!” Tina wailed. “Bill! I need you!”
He jumped almost out of the chair. The kids laughed and
clapped their hands.
“Happy Birday,” Cory sang tunelessly. “Happy Birday to
Bill.”
As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t put that dream
aside. He enjoyed his cake, and the kids’ excitement, and he wrapped a
beautiful handmade afghan about him for warmth. He needed it. That dream left
him cold. The next dream left him sore.
She set the boot on his desk. He waited for her
answer, but it didn’t come. Instead, she walked about his desk and reached out
towards him with bony fingers. She latched onto his ear and tugged as hard as
she could. He tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let up. His arms flapped
about and his chair swiveled about. He reached for his desk, for stability. She
pulled harder. He could feel those bones in the tips of her fingers. They were
cold and pointy. As hard as he tried to disentangle himself from her grasp, is
as hard as she pulled. She held her ground. He lost his balance. The chair
rolled out from under him. She pinched harder, holding him suspended between
the seat of his chair and the floor. The ear snapped. His head exploded in a
wealth of pain. He fell on his butt. He couldn’t believe it. Tenderly, he felt
the side of his head, trying to find some indication of his ear. He found a
hole.
She had it. She held it in her hand, and smiled at it.
Her mouth began to move. She turned aside. With both hands, she attached it to
the side of her head that had the dent in it. Sound exploded about him. A sweet
voice sang out to him, like the sirens sang to Ulysses. “You fill up my senses,
like a night in the forest...”
Sophie woke him up. Somehow the lamp flipped off the
night stand and smacked him right in the head.
Wednesday,
January 15th
Bill sported a headache most of that day, and a
bandage that covered the abrasion on his ear. He stopped at Twin Sisters’ for
a ham sandwich and a cup of soup well after the lunch rush had ended. The
sandwich was decent, but the soup tasted like canned. Pity. Not that he
remembered seeing Willow Pratt there, she was obviously one of the reasons that
the Rennault Sisters stayed in business for so long.
At two o’clock a cuckoo clock clucked. A moment later
something buzzed and something else dinged. There was now more wall and fewer
clocks. Bill set aside his sandwich and turned to watch the pair behind the
counter. They growled at each other, but nothing more. When they noticed that
he was watching, both tried to smile. He finished up and paid his bill. He
wanted to spend at least a half hour with Mikey.
“How’s your stomach?” Bill asked the boy when he
slipped into his wife’s classroom.
“Fine,” he said. “Better anyway.” The boy smiled at
Bill. “What happened to your ear?”
He touched it gingerly. “Accident.”
Sophie nodded and opened a book. “You know, Bill, not
to be rude. He really needs this time to work on his math.”
“That’s fine. Just figured you guys could work on his
math, then I’ll give him a ride home.” The look in his wife’s eyes told that
she didn’t trust his motives. Twenty minutes later his cell phone rang. He had
to leave without speaking to Mikey.
Later that evening, Sophie brought it up. “I don’t
appreciate you hanging around my classroom just so you can talk to Mikey.” She
stirred up a pot of mashed potatoes.
“I’m sorry?” He picked a spoon from the silverware
drawer and used it to take a taste of the potatoes. When he finished he
returned the spoon to where it came from.
“Damnit, Guilarmo,” she hissed, “Don’t you dare pick a
fight with me over this. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re doing.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back against the sink. “And
I tell you this has to do with work, then what?”
“Then I tell you to pick your damned utensils out of
that drawer and put it in the sink. That’s disgusting.”
A moment passed. He remained in place. “I need to talk
to Mikey. You tell me when.”
“This has to do with that Pratt girl, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t answer.
She nodded after a moment. “You pick up your spoon and
I’ll disappear tomorrow afternoon for a while. Is that good enough?” She
returned her attention to the stove and another pot. She didn’t take her eyes
off of him though. He smiled and retrieved the spoon. She shook her head. “Guilarmo,
living with you is an adventure.”
“Yep,” he said, tossing the spoon into the sink with
several others. “You love me though.”
Thursday,
January 16th
When Bill arrived, Sophie relinquished her desk next
to Mikey. She slipped into the hall and Bill slipped into her seat. “I have to
talk to you about Willow Pratt,” Bill explained. Tears sprung to Mikey’s eyes
instantly. “I know you were with them when Detective Boca talked to your Dad
and your Uncle Red. I’m sorry to ask you this, but is there something that you
overheard that they didn’t tell us?”
“I don’t know anything,” the boy whispered.
“Why are you crying then?”
“Dad said he’d blister my butt like he never did
before if I said anything to anyone. Only I don’t know anything. Honest. I
heard Red say that she won’t bother him anymore. That’s it though.”
“You didn’t hear anyone say that she’s dead or
anything?”
“No.” A large tear escaped and slid down his cheek. “You
know what, though? I had this dream. She sang for me this morning. Her head,
though. There was something wrong with her head. And she was missing a boot....”
“I have nothing,” Bill told Felix Boca. “I talked to
Borenstein’s son. The only thing he heard was that she won’t be around anymore.
No details.”
Felix shrugged. “Worth a shot.”
Tuesday,
January 28th
The woman with part of her head missing, and his ear,
sang to him first about missing puppies. When she finished with that song, she
went on and on about ‘don’t you step on my pink suede shoes.’
"It’s blue suede shoes,” Bill corrected as he fingered
the hole where his ear had been.
“I like pink.”
He awoke, finding that he had dozed off at work no
less. With his head back, deep in the head rest, and his fingers pressed into
his closed eyes, he hoped his secretary thought he was resting them.
His head hurt. The job he used to love had to be paid
for, and now it was his turn to make that happen. His father-in-law had warned
him about that when he took the offer to become chief.
Bill Scoggins had served as Portland’s Police Chief
for years, and Bill’s Dad, Ramon Ramos, served under Scoggins as second in
charge. They were best friends. Bill once heard that City officials avoided
dealing with the police department on anything they found to be at odds with
either Chief Scoggins or Lieutenant Ramos, because the pair presented a totally
unified front on nearly every issue.
Just once, Bill wished, he had someone at his side
battling it out with him. The City finance manager was complaining again, and
this time by letter, that his department needed to stay within the budget.
Never mind budgetary restraints were developed by someone outside of the
department, who had not taken into considerations his recommendations as to
what his actual needs were. According to the letter, his overtime costs alone
would be the responsible force in pushing the City into a bankruptcy abyss.
Stop, it ordered. Consider the budget when making large purchases or small. And
by all means, watch the overtime.
“Chief?” Unsinger stood in the doorway of his office. “Those
two new squads are in. Interested?”
“I can use the break.”
These were smaller, and maybe a little cheaper than
what they used to buy. The State made a contract each year with one dealership
in which government agencies could purchase any vehicle they needed. It used to
be a Ford dealer, which meant that all cars the City purchased previously were
Crown Victorias. Bill’s own squad was a Crown Vic. The current dealership under
contract with the State sold Chevy’s.
These were gorgeous. They were all shiny and new,
bright white Cavaliers with a red, white and blue band across the quarter
panels on either side of the vehicles, saying Portland Police. These had front
grills made for pushing stalled vehicles off the road. This was expensive and
Bill thought about dispensing with them all together, and then changed his
mind. He had put his back into pushing quite a number of vehicles out of
traffic in his day, and that usually happened when he was needed elsewhere.
This had new, stronger side armor, but as everyone was aware, it provided only
partial protection in a high speed crash.
The real charm of both vehicles were the high tech
amenities like the computer system. It was hooked up to the State system, and
could provide information concerning warrants, stolen goods, records or
anything else necessary for more effective police work. Currently, the
computer system installed in eighteen out of twenty-two vehicles was limited.
Most information, such as rap sheets, current addresses, etc. had to be relayed
by radio from the computer in the 911 Center. Four vehicles had newer
equipment, and better software. It wasn’t enough, though. This new system also
used Doppler and global tracking. Vehicles approaching from either direction
could be pinpointed and their exact location displayed on a plasma monitor
located in the dash between the driver and passenger seats. That, Bill
appreciated.
“What do you think?” Unsinger asked. “Ready to go back
on the street?”
“Yesterday,” Bill commented as he adjusted the
monitor. “Put these on the south side.”
Another feature Bill loved, was movement sensitive
cameras mounted inside and pointed at both the front and rear. Not only where
they adjustable, but they were self-adjusting as well. When something went down
either in front or behind the vehicle, the cameras moved with the action.
“Both of them?”
“Think about it. Put one in the forest preserves
coming out of Pipe of Peace, and one back by the trailer courts on the west.”
Unsinger nodded. “Makes sense.”
Bill drew in, appreciating the smell of new car. “Yep,”
he said. “I’ll work the street as of yesterday. Let someone else pay for this
train wreck.”
***
Mario Verducci counted five one hundred dollar bills
into Evelyn Pratt’s hand. “I appreciate it,” he said. “My youngest, Antoinette.
She can use the car to go back and forth to college with on the weekends.”
Evelyn nodded. “I appreciate this. Got a few extra
expenses that I didn’t count on.”
“Any word on Willow?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Well, I’ll say this. She’s in our prayers. You and
Harry, too.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that more than anything.”
Friday,
January 31st
Karolyn Mathers called at three thirty. “I really need
to begin work now,” she told Evelyn Pratt. “Any more delays, and I can’t
guarantee I can find anything.”
"Okay, okay,” Evelyn assured. “I have the money. When
can we get started?”
“Tomorrow. I need a photo of Willow. Also something
that she values. Something that she would have kept on her person. A piece of
jewelry maybe.”
“Clothing?”
“Well, clothing is tough. People might keep clothing
close to them, but they don’t attach a sentimental value like they would to a
ring or a pair of earrings.”
“Well, when would I get that back?”
“I’m not sure that you would. Sometimes it’s just
easier for me to keep it in hand. Keep me in contact with Willow. Or should I
call her Willie?”
Something with a sentimental value. Evelyn had to
think. There wasn’t much left around the house that she could consider that
important. She had to come up with something else. She called Red. “I don’t
have a thing. She moved out New Year’s Eve and she packed up everything she
owned and took it with her. You’re going to have to find her on your own. I can’t
help you.”
No, he wouldn’t help her. Not if she were drowning and
he owned the only floatation device. She tried to think. Pam came to the
rescue. “God, I don’t believe I’m doing this,” the girl whispered as she handed
over a pair of earrings. “You remember these? They were her favorite. She gave
them to me after that time I helped her paint her kitchen.”
They were silver filigree with pink industrial
sapphires, and they were pretty. Evelyn wrapped them up in her palm. It would
be so easy to cry right now. To give into the comfort of tears. She didn’t. She
made up her mind earlier that she’d cry when she knew of Willow’s fate. “Thank
you,” she said, giving her youngest a hug.
Saturday,
February 1st
Karolyn Mathers took up the earrings in the palm of
her hand and covered it with the other. She closed her eyes and drew in deeply.
“These will do nicely,” she said after a long moment. “I’m going to take them
with me, and I’m going to pray on these tonight. By tomorrow, I should be able
to tell you something.” She wrapped the earrings up in a plastic lunch bag, and
set that and the cash in her purse.
"I hope she gave you some sort of contract,” elder
daughter, Erica, commented, once the woman was out of the door.
“Contract?”
“Contract. Yes or no?”
“Well, no. You don’t think... No.”
Sunday,
February 2nd
“I’ve been praying all night,” said Karolyn Mathers
over the phone, “And I’ve been praying all day. I haven’t got much to work with
at this point. I mean I will have more for you. Still, I think I have something
for you to work on.”
“What’s that?” Evelyn demanded.
“I keep seeing this bridge. It crosses a river of some
sort. Only it isn’t really a river. On the right hand side, heading south over
the river, there’s a break in the guardrail.”
“And?”
“And? That’s it. You have to find the bridge with the
break in the guard rail. You find that and you’ll find Willow.”
Harry brought in a map from the glove box of his car. “I
kind of thought she’d help us with this,” Evelyn said as he spread the map
across the kitchen table. “I mean what did we pay her a thousand dollars for?”
He pointed to a long blue line, and then to another. “You
said it was river like, but it wasn’t a river?”
“Right.” She moved in to see where he was.
“Here’s the Cal Sag Channel. It’s man made. A river,
but it isn’t a river.” He moved along the blue line until he ran into another. “This
is the Chicago Sanitary Canal. Also man made.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“We can start right here,” he said, returning to a shaded
area that said Portland. “The Channel begins over here by the Little Calumet
River. A bridge crosses it every few blocks.”
“That could take days.”
“It could.”
“And what if there is a bridge out there with the
guard railing missing, and if it is repairs it before we get there?”
Harry nodded. “I guess that’s one of the risks we face
considering how long it took us to get moving on this.”
“And if we had two cars, I could start at one end and
you at the other.”
Harry met her eye for eye. “I didn’t ask you to sell
your car. You did that on your own.”
Evelyn folded her arms over her breast. Just like him.
Wouldn’t make up his mind on much, but once someone screwed up, he’d point a
finger. ‘Your fault. You did it. Not me.’ “God help me for making a decision,”
she said slowly.
“All I’m saying is that I didn’t tell you to sell your
car.”
“All I’m saying is that this isn’t helping us find
that bridge. Now is it?”
Harry studied her, but then pointed at the map. “Let’s
start here.”
“Fine.”
“Tonight. After dinner.”
She nodded. Again, it was doing something.
They crossed the first bridge, just east of Portland
at five thirty. They crossed the next at five thirty five. They doubled back at
the third bridge. It was dark and hard to see.
