“Odd. That’s the word that comes to mind when I think of that man.” The woman shivered, pulling the edges of a red cardigan sweater around her shoulders. “You want to come inside? Have some tea?”
“Sure. Thank you.” McGrew followed Ila Perkins, Abbott’s landlady, into her ground-floor apartment. Her yellow-tinted hair was piled in an elaborate upsweep and the glasses she wore—with their oversized frame—looked comical on her small, wizened face. He followed her into a living room with a matching nylon aqua sofa and chair, both facing a maple-cased console TV. The volume was off, but it was easy to read the fury on Judge Judy’s face.
“Sit down, Mr. McGrew. It ain’t often I get company.”
He settled in the armchair and Ila handed him his tea in a chipped peach and white cup with matching sau
