Patty DayJANUARY 2, 1985
3:10 P.M.
Patty flew into the driver’s seat of Diane’s car—her eyes on the keys dangling from the ignition, get out of here, now, get out. Diane hopped into the passenger side as Patty turned over the engine. She actually made a burned-rubber noise as she squealed away from the Muehlers’ house, the rear end of the car flailing behind her. All the crap in Diane’s trunk—baseballs and garden tools and the girls’ dolls—rolled and banged like passengers in a turnover wreck. She and Diane bumped along the gravel road, dust flying, skidding toward the trees on the left and then veering toward a ditch on the right. Finally Diane’s strong hand appeared and landed gently on the wheel.
“Easy.”
Patty rumbled along until she got off the Muehler property, swung a wide left,
