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carried the rough edge of a local pickup truck。
〃Mrs。 Boulton?〃 barked a gruff voice。 The stocky form of a farmer; clad
in heavy wool jacket; baggy overalls; and aged work boots; stepped from
the cab of the truck and strode toward her。
〃Yes?〃 She didn't recognize the man。
〃Gut a message for ya。 From a fella named Cooper。 Phoned the police
station。 Sorry for the delay。〃 He handed the crumpled paper into Anne's
outstretched hand; touched a callused hand to his cap's bill; climbed
back in his truck; and was gone。
Nervously she unfolded the paper。 The scrawl was nearly illegible。
〃Unavoidable delay。 Mitch arriving Sunday night。 Miles Cooper。〃
With a tired sigh she cast a glance down the empty road。 Another whole
day to wait。 Unavoidable delay。 She wondered what that meant but it
didn't keep her awake that night。 Exhausted from the night before; she
slept deeply。
Sunday brought rain; and a dark; gloomy day。 Anne went out for a walk
anyway; did a crossword puzzle; sat at the window for what seemed hours。
By midafternoon; she was champing at the bit。 With neither cleaning nor
baking left to do; she did some translating。 When she finally heard a
distant car; the dim light of day had long since yielded to night。 But
the growing purr was familiar。 Without doubt; it was the Honda。
Excited; she opened the front door。 It seemed an eternity before he
finally climbed from the car; wrested his bags from the trunk; and
bolted through the rain toward the house。 When he brushed past her
without a direct glance; she knew something was wrong。
She closed the door on the rawness of the night; and turned to see him