Come home. Johnny Mack Cahill read the note again. The damned thing didn't make a bit of sense. He didn't have a son, and his home had been here in the Houston area for the past fifteen years. He turned the hand-printed message over, noting the college-ruled notebook paper on which it had been written. Picking up the legal-size envelope he had tossed on the sofa along with his other mail, he tried to read the smeared postal service marking. All he could make out was "AL" and "35." Alabama? Who from Alabama would be writing to him after all these years? Although he still sent Lillie Mae money from time to time, she never wrote to him. And he hadn't left behind anybody else who cared whether he lived or died. Or had he? Who would be sending him such a cryptic message? Come home. Home to Alabama? Home to Noble's Crossing? Hell would freeze over first! Holding the envelope up to the light, Johnny Mack saw the shadow of something that hadn't fallen out along with the mysterious, succinct letter.
