CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It had taken Nash twenty minutes to get to the first houses on Main Street. People he saw along the way just stared at him with suspicion. But he said good morning and tipped his hat.
He got to one house where a woman tended to a flower bed in her front yard and stopped.
“Morning, ma’am,” Nash said.
“Morning,” she replied without looking up. She was a small woman with black hair that stuck out from underneath a bandana. She wore jeans, a white t-shirt, and blue sneakers. Nash figured she was in her mid-fifties.
“Nice day,” Nash said, looking up at the cloudless sky.
“Depends,” she said. Her gaze fixed on what she was doing and not once looking up at Nash.
“Depends on what?” Nash asked.
The woman looked up at him and stood as she wipped her hands on a cloth piece
