CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Curly ConfusionKit sat on the sofa in the lounge, her knees drawn up to her chin. The hugging action of her arms did little to soothe her frayed nerves. Jerry paced the lounge, a toe peeking through a hole in his sock. The discarded dog collar coiled from the pocket of his jacket, as though even the angels feared the nightmare unleashed on Kit. He whirled to face her and held up his hand for silence, even though she hadn’t spoken.
“You’re sure your mother touched the scissors.”
Kit gave a shallow nod. “Yes. Lots of times. Some of her prints might have wiped off when she pushed them into the cloth case, but I can’t guarantee it.”
Jerry exhaled and spun again. “I don’t think we should say anything to Lane just yet.”
“What? No!” Kit lowered her knees. “Because then the
