“Dooley said, incredulous. “That’s right,” his uncle said. It was all he said. Okay. “How did it get there?” His uncle stiffened a little in his chair. “She was in my car.” “When?” “That night.” “The night you were supposed to be at the poker game?” Dooley said. “Yes.” “What was Lorraine doing in your car?” “We were talking.” His uncle answered questions like a cop in the witness box. Don’t volunteer any information, don’t ramble, don’t embellish, just answer the question you’ve been asked as si...mply and as directly as possible. Well, okay, here’s one: “How did her blood get in your car?” “She had a cut on her hand.” “A cut?” “She said from peeling vegetables.” “Vegetables?” The whole time Dooley had known Lorraine, vegetables had meant French fries, but she’d never had to peel them because they came ready-peeled and cut. Most of the time they also came ready-cooked, too, in little red cardboard containers with a big golden M on them.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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