Beth Stone wondered how an eighty-two-year-old woman with enough osteoporosis to rival the Hunchback of Notre Dame had gotten herself into such a ridiculous place that she had no choice but to rob the village museum.
But here she was.
A sliver of midnight moon and the smeared light of the Milky Way offered just enough light for her to discern the Frayville Museum’s pebbly white front walk. The black canvas satchel of tools in her left hand dragged at her shoulder, setting up an ache that’d last for days. Her hips felt pretty good tonight so she didn’t truly need the wooden cane, but she used it to meticulously probe the path ahead before each step. Getting caught would be embarrassing, but shattering a femur during a robbery offered complete humiliation.
No, not complete.
A forged Matc
