Chapter Nine
Sybil's bed, really two decrepit twin beds jury-rigged into one with C-clamps binding the inside legs, was still made up. Alfonso took the sight in and, with a firm grasp of the obvious, proclaimed, “Don't look like she slept here last night.”
“Any chance she got up early, made the bed, then went for a walk down the midway?”
“No chance at all.”
“How can you know?”
“Because makin' the bed would constitute exercise. Exercise was against her religion. And walkin' the midway would involve walkin' which let's Sybil out.” The midget scanned the room. “Besides who takes everything they own for a walk?”
He had a point. The bureau had been cleaned out, empty as a frat house keg, without anyone having bothered to push the drawers closed. Empty clothes hangers lay dropped on the fl
