Chapter Five
The bus ride didn’t take as long as anticipated, so I gave a mental fist pump at the chance I would make it home before dark. I wasn’t sure why that suddenly mattered, though I was feeling a bit antsy. I guessed being attacked made a girl funny that way.
Tara lived near the Mission District in a modest Victorian walk-up. The neighborhood was nicer than mine without being too, too nice. The house itself was in need of a bit of repair, but a good scrubbing and a couple of coats of paint would spruce it up in no time.
The names on the callbox were faded and the one that matched the number Bob had supplied read “Marcona” or some variation on that. The lettering was worn and in a cursive hand that no one Tara’s age could have penned, so there was no telling how long it had been
