She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. Birthdays just ain’t the same once you get old kiddo. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. . Critically, she stared at her own features. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. Why should they be? She and Ramage were friends, very good friends. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl.
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