Whitmore had comeall the way to the edge of the embankment, wanting to get every foot ofdistance she could. Dad or Bud came and read to her sometimes but most of the time she liked better reading to herself. She looked ratherpleased--either at knowing such a terrible story or at having the chanceto tell it. I reached for thefridge door, then paused.
Dickie Brooks at the garage. Blood, rusty and thin, stained the nape of my neck all around the hairline. Out here, in front of the stageand below it, the crowd once more drew back from me and my little girlwithout looking at us or missing a beat as they clapped theirwork-swollen hands together. On Friday the seventeenth, I stopped at theLakeview General on my way back to the house to gas up my Chevrolet.
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