Obscured by the shadow of a bent tree, Sam checked out the old plantation home for any signs of life. As the ancient oaks and cypresses drooped in their effort to hold up the layer of sweltering heat bearing down on the bayou, Sam remained still.
After several minutes of rest, he peeled his wet shirt away from his back and brushed the sweat from his forehead. His appreciation of air conditioning had shot up to an all-time high while walking the last mile to the Biscay family home.
By the looks of things, the plantation was as run down as Charlie had been the last time they spoke. And the old homestead displayed the same pallid hue as his friend. Sam knew Charlie had come home to die.
When slowly approaching the veranda, Sam was struck by the sad image of a house so parched it could bare
