CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
The flames mesmerised Georgie, liquefying her muscles as she watched them lick the logs and listened to the hungry rumble, crackle and pops from the fireplace. The rock riff of her phone broke her trance.
She turned in the direction of the music, noting that the fire and the illuminated mobile were the only sources of light in the room. Coming to her feet and padding over to the dining table, her gaze flicked to the window. Pitch-black outside. Must be closer to 6.00pm than 5.00. She’d lost over an hour, reeling from the latest article, troubled by the angst mushrooming from the Korweinguboora tragedy.
Georgie’s sluggishness vanished when she spotted Hilda Getty’s name on the mobile screen. She slapped around on the tabletop, couldn’t find what she needed. She switch
