TwelveCross holstered his g*n. Whoever they were, this Paul and Angela, it seemed unlikely they were responsible for turning Arthur's shed into a charnel house. And it was gratifying, the chief found, that without the threat of being shot, the pair even relaxed a bit and did their best to answer his questions.
“We'll do what we can to help,” Angela said. “But first you need that wound patched up.”
Cross frowned. He didn't like being mothered when he had a mother. He liked it less from a person of interest in a crime. He would have told her so again had they not been interrupted. But suddenly, distantly, another scream filled the air and thoughts of the chief's wound vanished. All three looked up and toward the east path, while Paul and Cross complained in unison, “Not again.”
Pressing h
