“Where is she?” “Alice, dear.” Judy’s voice lowered to a grainy whisper. “Pam was fond of you — she told me that.” Was. “I heard your voice mails today. I’ll help you with the Third Place house.” “Please tell me what happened.” Judy sighed deeply. Alice could see her sitting at the far right desk, the one cluttered with knickknacks, beneath the framed needlepoint legends that might have read OFFICE SWEET HOME or TODAY IS A NEW DAY, reminders not to mourn what couldn’t be changed. “A neighbor fou...nd her in her car this morning, with the motor running. The man smelled gas coming from behind the garage door.” Alice could see the black-painted scrolling door of Pam’s garage, an urban rarity for which she had seemed remarkably lucky. “But that’s impossible,” Alice said. “Pam wouldn’t.” She saw Pam’s lips curling in humor, heard her shout of laughter, smelled the baby powder wafting off her skin. The woman had so many projects and plans. She never would have sent Alice to the house this morning, if she had known....MoreLessRead More Read Less
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