Gina and her husband Fred lived on the edge of Hoquiam in a beautiful newer area with large homes, manicured lawns and flower-filled gardens. Even though the home styles varied throughout this concrete community, the tan color scheme gave a sense of sameness while driving through it; people either loved or hated it. Gina stood in the middle of the driveway, arms crossed as if ready to take on the devil himself. Her husband traipsed out of the house and waved his large hand, as Emily parked on the street in front of the house. Fred, only a few inches taller than Gina, stood behind his wife—a solid, balding man who could stand to shed a few pounds. He was a good, honest and quiet man; a glazier who never had a bad word to say about anyone. Emily liked him.
She glanced at Katy; sound asleep.
