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datatime: 2022-12-04 07:38:26 Author:ZoTtEIIz

'I know what you're thinking,' Clarise said. 'If she was going to kill herself, why bother with breakfast? It's even weirder than that, Joe. She'd made an omelette with Cheddar and chopped scallions and ham. Toast on the side. A glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. She was halfway through eating it when she got up and went outside with the camcorder.

Bob and Clarise were still standing on the porch, side by side, watching Joe as he drove away.

'-and she was reading the comics,' Bob finished.

He checked the luminous dial of his watch. 'It's only a few minutes past nine. I'm going to try to see another of the families tonight.'

As though they were friends of long experience, Clarise put her arms around Joe and hugged him. 'I hope this Rose is a good person, like you think. I hope you find her. And whatever she has to tell you, I hope it brings you some peace, Joe.'

As though they were friends of long experience, Clarise put her arms around Joe and hugged him. 'I hope this Rose is a good person, like you think. I hope you find her. And whatever she has to tell you, I hope it brings you some peace, Joe.'

Bob and Clarise were still standing on the porch, side by side, watching Joe as he drove away.

Grabbing his hand, pulling him across the threshold into the marble-floored foyer, pushing the door shut with her hip, she didn't take her astonished gaze from him. 'Lisa was telling us about your wife and daughters, about how you just dropped out, went away. But now here you are, here you are.'

'I know what you're thinking,' Clarise said. 'If she was going to kill herself, why bother with breakfast? It's even weirder than that, Joe. She'd made an omelette with Cheddar and chopped scallions and ham. Toast on the side. A glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. She was halfway through eating it when she got up and went outside with the camcorder.

'Something's wrong, Joe. Something's wrong big time.'

A minute ago, the night had seemed gracious, and he had seen nothing to fear in it. Now it loomed, and he repeatedly checked his rear-view mirror.

As Clarise and Bob followed him onto the porch, Joe said, 'When they found Nora, was the photograph of Tom's grave with her?'

The woman you described on the video was deeply depressed or in an altered state of some kind. How could she have had the mental clarity or the patience to make such a complicated breakfast?'

As though they were friends of long experience, Clarise put her arms around Joe and hugged him. 'I hope this Rose is a good person, like you think. I hope you find her. And whatever she has to tell you, I hope it brings you some peace, Joe.'

They shook hands. The handshake became a brotherly hug.

They shook hands. The handshake became a brotherly hug.

'We found it on the table when we arrived from San Diego,' Clarise recalled. 'Beside her breakfast plate.'

Georgine Delmann herself answered the door. Joe recognized her from her photo in one of the Post articles about the crash. She was in her late forties, tall and slim, with richly glowing dusky skin, masses of curly dark hair, and lively eyes as purple-black as plums. Hers was a wild beauty, and she assiduously tamed it with steel-frame eyeglasses instead of contacts, no makeup, and grey slacks and white blouse that were manly in style.

Charles and Georgine Delmann lived in an enormous Georgian house on a half-acre lot in Hancock Park. A pair of magnolia trees framed the entrance to the front walk, which was flanked by knee-high box hedges so neatly groomed that they appeared to have been trimmed by legions of gardeners with cuticle scissors. The extremely rigid geometry of the house and grounds revealed a need for order, a faith in the superiority of human arrangement over the riot of nature.

Although he'd finished more than half of his second drink, Joe felt no effect from the 7-and-7. He had never seen a picture of Nora Vadance; nevertheless, the mental image he held of a faceless woman in a patio chair with a butcher knife was sufficiently sobering to counter twice the amount of whiskey that he had drunk.

'Something's wrong, Joe. Something's wrong big time.'

Then Bob said, 'You see what I meant earlier when I said we have a thousand questions of our own.'

Bob said, 'No. It was on the kitchen table. At the very end, she didn't carry it with her.'

'Be careful,' she said.

Georgine Delmann herself answered the door. Joe recognized her from her photo in one of the Post articles about the crash. She was in her late forties, tall and slim, with richly glowing dusky skin, masses of curly dark hair, and lively eyes as purple-black as plums. Hers was a wild beauty, and she assiduously tamed it with steel-frame eyeglasses instead of contacts, no makeup, and grey slacks and white blouse that were manly in style.

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