CHAPTER 8“What can you tell me about Chris Throckmorton?” Nancy asked.
Nancy and Frieda Olson were having coffee at Frieda’s home on Tuesday. The house was on a farm at the edge of Rockburg, a farm too small to be anything but a hobby now.
The women sat at Frieda’s kitchen table, sampling her latest excursion into baking. The room was square, with counters along three walls and a small hardwood table in the center. Off-white cabinets, pale-green Formica counters, and bright yellow paint made the kitchen seem cheerful and spacious.
Nancy nibbled tentatively on a piece of chocolate cake. She’d eaten at Frieda’s before.
“Throckmorton?” Frieda’s eyes lit up. “Ya know, I meant to introduce you two. You’d be perfect for each other.”
Throckmorton had been friendly when Nancy met him at the d
