“On the way, Virgil dialed Joan Carson’s cell number. Wherever she was, she was out of range, so he left a message: “This is Virgil. Gonna be back around six, I hope, if you’ve got time for a bite. Like to see you tonight. Uh, thought we got off to a pretty good start…anyway, let me know.” He should have sent flowers, he thought. In Worthington, he stopped at a coffee shop, got out his laptop, bought a cup of coffee, signed onto the Internet, and brought up a map. The town was twice as big as Bl...uestem, but it still only took a minute to orient himself and pick out Evening Street. He took the coffee out to the car and rolled over to the west side, cut Evening, guessed left, guessed correctly, and spotted Michelle Garber’s house, a postwar Cape Cod painted pale yellow, with green shutters on the windows and two dormers above the front door. A flat-roofed one-car garage had been attached, later, to the left side of the house, giving it a lopsided look; but better lopsided, in a Minnesota winter, than no garage at all.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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