He came out of the back bedroom. A large handsome man in an expensive-looking dark suit, a gray-and-blue tie, and black shoes. Dressed and fully awake, he also appeared younger than the time when she had shaken him out of sleep in the middle of the night.
“Laura,” he asked in agitation, “who was that little girl?” Miss Urey pushed back her wispy gray hair in a distracted manner and then turned and disappeared into the kitchen. “I’ll set the table now, J.C. Do you know what I made for you? I made your favorite—”
“Where does she live? Does she come here often?”
“J.C. I hardly ever see her and never alone. She’s just the little girl who lives down the road. Why can’t you trust me?”
As though about to produce a volley, he took a deep breath, started to say something, and then let it out in
