This story started here. Somewhat later, after Ms. Stapleton had departed, we were sitting on the front porch of Professor Lebrun’s house. It was probably mostly inertia that kept us — at least those of us who had not … Continue reading
This story started here. Professor Lebrun stood up. “Miss Stapleton, would you like some soup, and perhaps a sandwich? It would be no trouble at all.” She hesitated, and then nodded. “Thank you, Professor.” He bowed and headed to … Continue reading
This story started here. We were in town for most of the day. We were never actually under arrest, and when we were threatened with arrest there was some confusion about what we might be charged with. As my … Continue reading
This story started here. “I blew it,” my employer said as we sat on Professor Lebrun’s front porch and watched the sun come up. “I should have been able to stop Barbara and Rhonda getting shot.” “Do you know … Continue reading
This story started here. My employer and I described the “gathering of the suspects” (though not using that phrase, of course), and the aftermath. She did not emphasize that I had possibly saved her life — her crediting me … Continue reading
This story started here. Barbara Arkright was dead. She’d apparently died instantly, shot in the head by one of the two rifle bullets. The rest of us were at the hospital. Barbara’s mother, Maureen Arkright, had been sedated and … Continue reading