TWENTY
“THAT’S IT, NUMBER TWELVE. Boy, that’s a mess, huh?”
“Very.” I examined the outside of the small house that sat across the street. A black wrought-iron fence lurched drunkenly around a small garden that was more weeds than flowers, tall grass sheltering what appeared to be a rusted wheelbarrow. Butterflies provided brilliant spots of color as they flitted about the yard. “It’s not exactly what you’d expect from someone who used to live in the Court, is it?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah answered thoughtfully as we got out of the car. “I suppose once you’d lived in heaven, anything else would be...crap.”
The battered gate screeched painfully as I pushed it open, making my way through cast-off garden implements and boxes of unnamed refuse to the dirty front door.
“You’re not just going t
