This preview shows page 1. Sign up to view the full content.
Unformatted text preview: then told her supervisor she was taking her break. Sandy was waiting patiently at a table in the small dining section, next to the beer cooler and the ice machine. "Thanks," he said as she sat down. She was in her mid-forties, with a round face generously adorned with cheap cosmetics. "A lawyer from New Orleans, huh?" she said. "Yeah. I don't suppose you've read or heard about that case down on the Coast where they caught the lawyer who stole all that money?" She was shaking her head before he finished. "I don't read nothin', honey. I work sixty hours a week here, and I got two grandbabies livin' with me. My husband keeps 'em. He's disabled. Bad back. I don't read nothin', watch nothin', do nothin' but work here and change dirty diapers when I'm home." Sandy was almost sorry he asked. How depressing! As efficiently as possible, he told Patrick's story. She found it amusing, but her interest waned toward the end. "Give 'im the death penalty," she said during a pause. "He didn't kill anybody." "Thought you said there was a body in his car." "There was. But the body was already dead." Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "Did he kill it?" "No. He just sort of stole it." "Hummm. Look, I gotta get back to work. If you don't mind me askin', what's all this got to do with me?" "The body he took was Clovis Goodman, your dear departed grandfather." Her head rolled to the right. "He burned up Clovis!" Sandy nodded. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to arrange the proper emotions. "What for?" she asked. "He had to fake a death, okay?" "But why Clovis?" "Patrick was his lawyer and friend." "Some friend." "Yeah, look, I'm not trying to make sense of all this. It was done four years ago, long before you and I entered the picture." She tapped the fingers of one hand and chewed the nails of the other. The guy across from her se...
View Full Document
- Spring '10