“Then who does?”
“Ask the warden. A person sets money in my account each month, like I’m a bill that is damn gotta pay. Cannot imagine whom else would accomplish that but Isabella.”
“I’ll ask.” Jefferson opened the spiral he’d had written and introduced a note. “Who else may be in touch along with her?”
Rohan shrugged. “She had friends, but I do not even remember their particular names.” His eyes closed in the notebook. “She had been a journalist. Maybe she ended up being got by her book published.”
“Okay, I’ll check.” It was a long chance, but they lived if she had been posted, the few phrases in the back of a novel about the writer more often than not stated where.
“Would not that be something if she’s a writer?” There was clearly a longing on Rohan’s face that was almost uncomforta
