Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. “Sure, but it’s not like you’re married, you know. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. No other white people within twenty miles. Mr. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. ‘But Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here.
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