CHAPTER ELEVEN
With a few hours to kill before Andi knocked off work, I took a drive around town. I wanted to check out the house where Christine Conroy’s family lived.
I pulled up a map on my phone of the town’s main streets, finding Christine’s home and its proximity to the Cold Mountain River. Fifteen minutes later, I wondered if the house still stood as I drove slowly along the street where she had spent her last hours happy. Many of the old wooden two-story buildings had been replaced by modern brick structures.
Large London Plain trees lined the asphalt on either side of the long, wide, and winding Riverview Road. The branches now bare, stood over a brown carpet of leaves beneath, which were raked into piles on front lawns or left rotting in the gutters along the curb side. I bet
