30
Roger dropped us at the coffee shop, where Cecil was thankfully still in one piece. It helped that the place was open twenty-four hours and I was a regular customer who tipped. I grabbed a couple of sandwiches from inside before driving us around the corner to my office. Addy settled into a chair with her lunch and a catalog she’d found abandoned on some flat surface while I did some quick catch-up.
In all of the Reform Center drama, I’d forgotten I’d asked John Driscoll to check with the TPD on Addy’s friend. He’d left a detailed message on my office voicemail.
“Sydney, we picked up a Carly Whitmore last month,” he said. “I can’t tell you what the charges were, but nothing serious enough to request prosecution as an adult. Ms. Whitmore was transferred to a secure juvenile facility p
