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Tiny drops of moisture slid down the sides of the large glass pitcher of iced tea that sat on the table on Mary Rose McGill’s patio.
Her mask hanging from her ear, Hadley Joy Morris Whitfield looked at her phone once more.
“Where is she?” she asked no one in particular.
Sitting about four feet away from her, Robinson Leary simply shrugged.
Geoffrey, the Mastiff, rolled over out of the sun and farted.
Marge Aaron was missing.
Mary Rose stood and refreshed their glasses. The iced tea felt perfect on this warm July day in Omaha, Nebraska.
“Did you text her again?” Mary Rose asked Hadley as she sat the pitcher down..
Just as Hadley opened her mouth to reply, the patio doors opened and Marge Aaron rushed out, a large shopping bag swinging by her side.
“There you are!” Hadley said with a big smile.
Marge pulled her mask down to her chin, plopped the bag on the table by the pitcher and pulled up a chair.
“I have something for us,” she said. “And it’s serious.”
Marge seldom did anything that was not serious.
The retired homicide detective had seen it all, heard it all, and been a part of a lot of it.
She opened the shopping bag and took out four bright yellow tee-shirts.
She dug deeper into the heavy bag and pulled out four bicycle helmets.
“What is all that?” Hadley asked.