The morning is still cool and Main Street still sleepy when I pull my truck into a parking spot in front of the Springside Police Department. I suspect Chief Ramsey is already in his office. If not, he’s over at the Springside Pancake House.
I think about checking, but my entire system recoils at the thought. It will be a long time before I order all-you-can-eat dollar-size pancakes again.
I slip out of the truck and ease the door closed, each movement quiet and hesitant. Instead of dashing up the steps, I lean against the driver’s side door and consider whether this is the best idea.
A week ago, Nigel dug up both the police report and the newspaper articles about my parents’ deaths. In all of that, there wasn’t a single mention of a baby at the scene. Which means what, exactly?
Either
