CHAPTER THREEThe telephone’s burbling woke Lindsey from a strange sleep. It was wonderful being in his own home, in his own bed. Mother was asleep in her room, and he’d spoken with Marvia the night before and made a dinner date with her.
But in his dreams images of Aurora Delano became confused with Mrs. Blomquist’s white powdery face. B-17s tumbled through the wartime sky, spiraling downward to crash into German munitions factories. A bomber’s smashed wing became Aurora’s shattered arm. The bomber, its stressed metal wings replaced by human limbs, circled over the Oakland Coliseum, threatening thousands of baseball fans.
The voice on the phone was female and remotely familiar. Lindsey hadn’t identified it as that of Mrs. Blomquist before she said, “Stand by for a call from Mr. Richelieu
