“Why are we watching his house?” Linda asked, removing a strawberry scone from a large bag of pastries we"d brought along to keep us busy and fed while we did stakeout, and holding it forth. “I thought you relegated the guy to trash-can memory.”
“Curiosity got the better of me, so I called Petey,” I confessed ruefully, taking a corn muffin. “For some inexplicable reason, I felt a need to see the house, maybe catch a glimpse of his wife and kids. I guess, in some strange way, it will help bring closure. I … I have to know.”
“I"d wanna know, too,” Rey affirmed, stretching forward from the rear so her head was between Linda and me.
My friends had dropped by early this Monday morning with large coffees courtesy of McDonald"s. The plan: establish an agenda for the week. When they heard I"d i
