Chapter 17“He confessed?” I asked, shifting the phone to my other shoulder so I could finish making a sandwich. It was mid-afternoon, Sunday, and I’d finally come up for air after going through the edits on the first four chapters of my book.
When I left Alan’s house, with my bags stashed in the bike’s saddlebags and Laird’s carrier, with him in it, strapped to the passenger seat, it was early morning. We’d made a quick breakfast because Alan wanted to catch Parsons before he went to church, or whatever else he might do on a Sunday morning, like play golf. We did take time for a long hug before I got on the bike, at which point he promised, again, to call as soon as he’d finished dealing with Parsons.
I parked the bike behind my house, left the bag with my clothes at the foot of the stai
