Georgie drove with her mind preoccupied with calculations.
It was fifteen days since Susan Pentecoste’s aborted telephone conversation with Ruby Padley that Saturday and about as long since she’d spoken to Bill and Gabby Noonan and the Pattersons next door.
After her court hearing the following Friday, Georgie—reluctantly at first—had answered Ruby’s cry for help. Only nine days ago. It seemed much longer. With each minute, she became more wound up.
Franklin registered a small white Toyota parked outside the church.
Valerie Blyte’s.
Empty.
He jogged to the front door. His hand unconsciously dropped hip-side to the phantom g*n holster. AWOL along with his capsicum spray and baton, he was about to enter the worst type of incident—a volatile situation involving an infant—unarmed and wit
