byMrs. Clyde Lattimer sat quietly behind the wheel of her gray De Soto convertible and waited for the school bell to ring. She was a very pretty woman with warm, golden skin, blonde hair, a trim figure. Her brown eyes, peering through the windshield, were still and luminous.
Her car was parked at the curb, a hundred yards from the school doors. That was close enough, however, for her to hear the dismissal bell when it rang at 3:30, and to see quite clearly the children who immediately began to pour from the building and scatter, chattering, to their homes. School was over for another day. And in this quiet suburb of a city whose name Mrs. Lattimer did not know, most of the pupils who attended elementary school walked home; they were not chauffeured by harried mothers as in the big city sc
