CHAPTER 8
“You’re not sick, are you Debby?” Joanne Kefauver asked. Ever since Polaski had driven off with the sheriff that morning, Debby had sat apart from the rest of the commune group, unable to do any work or talk to her friends. Now the sun had set and dinner was being eaten by most of the commune, but Debby still sat alone on her rock, staring unseeing at the trees on the nearby mountainside. Joanne, her best friend in the camp, was concerned.
“No, I’m not sick,” Debby answered in a monotone.
“Then what’s the matter?”
“I’m worried.”
“About what?”
“About everything.” She turned to face her friend and there were tears in her eyes. “Joanne, it’s been eight hours since the sheriff took Carl away.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Some old bat was probably missing her socks a
