Ninety minutes later, pulling onto her street with enough groceries to feed a small army, Faith was amazed at the number of red and blue lights up and down her block. She saw Max standing on the curb talking to an officer.
Rushing across the street, she asked, “Mr. Jones! What’s wrong?”
Then she hugged herself as she saw the stark, impersonal black zipped bag on its gurney being brought out of Mr. Conner’s home.
“Oh,” she gasped. “Oh, no.”
Max came over to her.
“Something didn’t feel right, so I called and asked the police to come check on him. I’ve known him twenty years, he’s never not returned a call. Medical examiner said it looks like he had a heart attack sometime this morning.”
Faith stammered, trying to think.
“I know he had a nephew, he mentioned him once, but I don’t know
