Who's Dead
Hemphill nearly jumped out of the car as I pulled up to his house. He ran for the door and flung it open.
“Where is she?”
I was twenty yards behind him and could still hear. It was a far cry from the sick guy I had struggled to hear last night when I called him in Atlanta. Or was it Atlanta. I made a mental note to check on that.
“Chlorinda! How did this…”
I walked into the bedroom to find Mr. Hemphill holding her in his arms, blood and all. It struck me as odd—more than odd. Most people shy away from a dead body, let alone a dead body covered in blood, and yet here we had Mr. Hemphill holding her to his chest. It didn’t add up. Something was wrong.
I glanced at Ribs, who was focused on the same scene. You see this? I mouthed.
He nodded then stepped forward. “Mr. Hemphill
