Chapter 19
THE WOMAN in a black dress and veiled face perched on the barstool, precisely where she’d sat during my visit this morning.
“Hello,” I said. This second bread roll was warmer than my first. How was Jack baking at a bar and grill? A room jammed full of people, and he’d done five vats of chili and enough rolls to feed us all?
“I heard you wailing down the road this afternoon,” the woman said.
I knew her voice. “I’m afraid you have the better of me,” I said.
“I suppose I would,” she said, brushing the veil with her long fingers. “I’m Rose.” She must have caught my blank look. “Rose Friedman.”
“Rose!” Rose Friedman lived half a block west of Kevin, in half of a duplex. She’d been Julie’s kindergarten teacher, but had retired a year or so later because of her…heart? No, stomach
