57
“Sydney, what’d you do to Wilfred Perry?” Roger asked when he called my office Monday morning.
“Nothing. Why—what’s wrong?” I asked.
“I was just on the phone with Hart. Everybody’s on board for Jerome’s deal except the victim, and he wants to talk to you.”
The victim didn’t have to agree to a plea deal, but it definitely looked better—for everyone—if he did. And with the trial a week away, the sooner the better. “Fine,” I said. “Ralph and I will leave this afternoon.”
Poor Ralph slept for the entire drive to Hendersenville. He was still bleary-eyed when I dropped him off at the Jennings home while I went to see Mr. Perry. Mr. Perry had asked to meet somewhere away from work, so I’d suggested the cafe Ralph and I had frequented. I arrived first, but not by much. I was still hovering
