HE WENT OUT. Molly and Molly A., dark curls shining, and John Eden all spit and polish, freckles glowing, were coming from the hyphen. Yerby was back. O’Leary saw his face as he pulled up, at the same moment he saw Anita Ashton’s big car coming out of the lane. Yerby got out, slamming his door shut.
“It’s a court order, Spig. For the Ashton kid. She went to Judge Banks. It restrains you from moving the child. I tried to call you.”
Spig held the paper Buck thrust at him, too numb to read it. He turned back to where Molly had stopped, her face drained very white, her feet frozen to the ground. It was like a horrible game of statues, with Tip and Kitsy and John Eden turned to marble where they were, and Molly A., the four-year-old, holding Molly’s hand, suddenly clinging tightly to it. Anit
