CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Franklin yawned and stretched.
After dealing with a back-to-back series of tedious and trivial complaints, they’d just been to see Charlie Banks. He’d reported a prowler, but even as Franklin put down the phone, he knew they’d find no one besides the old codger, along with an open packet of Butternut Snap biscuits on the kitchen table and the kettle a moment ago boiled.
Sam puffed out her cheeks. ‘Wish I’d stopped at two bickies, but he looked so disappointed, I had to have more. Poor old man. He’s lonely, isn’t he?’
‘Yep. He calls when he wants to chew the fat.’ Franklin dropped the car keys onto their hook.
‘And makes up a story?’
‘Every time.’
‘At least he rings the station directly.’
‘Yep,’ Franklin said again, extracting a bundle of paperwork. ‘And it alway
