Like I’d taken a kick to the groin. “Who are you?” “I’m Alyssa—I have no idea who this Darla you keep talking about is,” she said. “I thought you were Darla.” She was the right height. Brown hair curled around her shoulders, exactly like Darla’s. But Darla had a rectangular, Midwestern face—beautiful, but tough and solid. This girl was elfin by contrast—her face almost diamond shaped, her features delicate, her tiny nose slightly upturned. I guessed she might be a year or two younger than Darla. “Who’s Darla?” She hadn’t moved from the back of the truck. “Where’s Darla?” I strode down the length of the truck toward her. “How am I supposed to know? I just told you I don’t know who she is!” “She’s a girl. Your height. Same hair. Peckerwoods took her to Anamosa.” “Shot in her right shoulder?”
