True Crime (2011)
“Sitting, with her hands folded in her lap, staring blankly down at her daughter, Gail. Gail was kneeling on the carpet, in the little space between the beds and the cushioned chair. She was drawing a picture on newsprint, her Crayola box open and the crayons spread out around her. At seven, Gail was a small child, thin and frail like her mother, with mouse-brown hair tied back in a long ponytail. She drew ferociously, pressing the crayons hard, her tongue clamped between her teeth.
Bonnie raise...d her eyes slowly at Flowers’s soft knock. When he pushed through the unlocked door, she smiled at him weakly. She felt as if she were seeing Flowers from very far away. A figure on another shore, very far away.
The minister was a handsome man with a fine, sculpted head on a tall, broad, portly frame. He rarely smiled himself and had developed, over the years, that appearance of lowering dignity that went down well among the faithful of his community. But the dignity was real too, and inward; Bonnie knew it, no one more.MoreLess
Bonnie raise...d her eyes slowly at Flowers’s soft knock. When he pushed through the unlocked door, she smiled at him weakly. She felt as if she were seeing Flowers from very far away. A figure on another shore, very far away.
The minister was a handsome man with a fine, sculpted head on a tall, broad, portly frame. He rarely smiled himself and had developed, over the years, that appearance of lowering dignity that went down well among the faithful of his community. But the dignity was real too, and inward; Bonnie knew it, no one more.MoreLess
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