serial numbers.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve been able to track down the director of the shelter, Sally Walton. ”
“What do you know about her? ”
“Just what I could get from her night manager. She told him she is fifty-two years old and has a Masters in Social Work. She also told him she has run several others over her career. She came here less than a year ago. He says she’s dedicated to her work and is a caring woman. The neighbors love her.”
“And where is she?” Garrison said.
“Monday nights are her night off. I just reached her on her cell phone and told her what happened. She sounded pretty torn up. She’ll be here by seven.” Malcolm checked his watch.
“Good. I want to ask her about that woman.”
“You’re still stuck on her?”
“She’s connected to all of this. I’m certain.”
Eva finally gave up on a good night’s sleep around seven A.M. She rose up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The springs in her bed squeaked as she shifted her weight. She grabbed her clothes from the end of the bed and unrolled her yoga mat. She spent the next thirty minutes moving through dozens of fast-paced sun salutations until her body glistened with sweat. The physical release eased the tension not only in her body but her mind. She’d discovered yoga in a book in the prison library. She’d started to practice just looking to kill time. What she’d found was a practice that gave her a mental peace that enabled her to endure her time behind bars.
She tiptoed into the bathroom. A shower, clean clothes, hair brushed into a neat ponytail warded off the last hints of fatigue and gave her a sense of control.
Eva headed down the back staircase to the pub’s kitchen and filled a teakettle with water and set it on the front burner. She turned on the gas flame and in the refrigerator found the tea bag she’d used yesterday, now carefully wrapped in a piece of foil. Each bag she’d discovered was good for two cups, three if she were really pushing it.
When the kettle whistled, she dipped the retrieved bag into a cup and poured hot water over it.
Helping Bobby last night stirred memories of her sister. She’d not seen Angie in over ten years. The last words they’d spoken to each other had been at Eva’s sentencing hearing. Angie had cried when the judge had passed sentence and his gavel had smacked against his desk. Eva was seventeen. Angie had been twenty-one. Angie’s eyes had been red from crying but Eva had possessed an odd calmness as if her soul had rose above her body.
The kitchen’s back door opened and closed with a bang, startling her back to the present. A blurry-eyed King strode in the back door with a bushel of potatoes. He set the bushel down on a stainless-steel prep table. The morning chill had left a rosy hue on his lean face and gray hair stuck out from under a Redskins football stocking cap. At his full height he stood five feet four inches and had narrow shoulders and a lean belly. He reminded Eva of a leprechaun more than a King.
The cold of the morning market still clung to his leather jacket. “I thought I heard you come in last night. Figured your shift didn’t work out.”
“The place burned before I arrived.”
“What!”
The story even sounded odd to her. “The place was charred rubble when I arrived. There wasn’t much for me to do but leave.”
He tugged at his belt, as if readying for a fight. “Damn, Eva. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I missed the whole drama.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You look like you slept five minutes last night.”
“Just about.”
“No wonder, seeing as the shelter burned.”
The nightmare had come again last night, waking her at two in the morning. Her gown had soaked through to her sheets so she’d had to lay bath towels on the sheets so she could go back to sleep. Only, she’d not slept well at all. “I guess.”
King kept a modest two-bedroom apartment over the restaurant. When he’d first offered her the
“Okay.”
“I’ve been able to track down the director of the shelter, Sally Walton. ”
“What do you know about her? ”
“Just what I could get from her night manager. She told him she is fifty-two years old and has a Masters in Social Work. She also told him she has run several others over her career. She came here less than a year ago. He says she’s dedicated to her work and is a caring woman. The neighbors love her.”
“And where is she?” Garrison said.
“Monday nights are her night off. I just reached her on her cell phone and told her what happened. She sounded pretty torn up. She’ll be here by seven.” Malcolm checked his watch.
“Good. I want to ask her about that woman.”
“You’re still stuck on her?”
“She’s connected to all of this. I’m certain.”
Eva finally gave up on a good night’s sleep around seven A.M. She rose up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The springs in her bed squeaked as she shifted her weight. She grabbed her clothes from the end of the bed and unrolled her yoga mat. She spent the next thirty minutes moving through dozens of fast-paced sun salutations until her body glistened with sweat. The physical release eased the tension not only in her body but her mind. She’d discovered yoga in a book in the prison library. She’d started to practice just looking to kill time. What she’d found was a practice that gave her a mental peace that enabled her to endure her time behind bars.
She tiptoed into the bathroom. A shower, clean clothes, hair brushed into a neat ponytail warded off the last hints of fatigue and gave her a sense of control.
Eva headed down the back staircase to the pub’s kitchen and filled a teakettle with water and set it on the front burner. She turned on the gas flame and in the refrigerator found the tea bag she’d used yesterday, now carefully wrapped in a piece of foil. Each bag she’d discovered was good for two cups, three if she were really pushing it.
When the kettle whistled, she dipped the retrieved bag into a cup and poured hot water over it.
Helping Bobby last night stirred memories of her sister. She’d not seen Angie in over ten years. The last words they’d spoken to each other had been at Eva’s sentencing hearing. Angie had cried when the judge had passed sentence and his gavel had smacked against his desk. Eva was seventeen. Angie had been twenty-one. Angie’s eyes had been red from crying but Eva had possessed an odd calmness as if her soul had rose above her body.
The kitchen’s back door opened and closed with a bang, startling her back to the present. A blurry-eyed King strode in the back door with a bushel of potatoes. He set the bushel down on a stainless-steel prep table. The morning chill had left a rosy hue on his lean face and gray hair stuck out from under a Redskins football stocking cap. At his full height he stood five feet four inches and had narrow shoulders and a lean belly. He reminded Eva of a leprechaun more than a King.
The cold of the morning market still clung to his leather jacket. “I thought I heard you come in last night. Figured your shift didn’t work out.”
“The place burned before I arrived.”
“What!”
The story even sounded odd to her. “The place was charred rubble when I arrived. There wasn’t much for me to do but leave.”
He tugged at his belt, as if readying for a fight. “Damn, Eva. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I missed the whole drama.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You look like you slept five minutes last night.”
“Just about.”
“No wonder, seeing as the shelter burned.”
The nightmare had come again last night, waking her at two in the morning. Her gown had soaked through to her sheets so she’d had to lay bath towels on the sheets so she could go back to sleep. Only, she’d not slept well at all. “I guess.”
King kept a modest two-bedroom apartment over the restaurant. When he’d first offered her the
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