CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
‘I’m passing the Black Spur Roadhouse.’ Georgie realised she was competing with road noise and lifted her mouth closer to the Bluetooth mic on her sun visor. ‘Can we hook up?’
‘I have a shift driving the mobile library later, but I’m free until then.’ Clive’s voice sounded tinny.
Georgie snaked a bend and reception dropped out. She swore, kept one eye on the phone’s service bars, the other on the winding road ahead.
One bar popped up and faded. Two corners on, she gained full service and redialled Clive. ‘Me again. Whereabouts are you?’
‘Home. But it’s rather hard to find. Let’s meet at the bakery in around quarter of an hour.’
She agreed, they disconnected and Georgie made a fresh call.
The landline number rang and eventually rang out, not even picked up by a m
