“Wait,” I called. The procession halted and turned to face me. “I know who she is,” I said. “I had a slight accident when I was riding a bicycle two days ago. I knocked her down. There was oil from the chain on her skirt. Look—here it is. She didn't manage to clean it off.” “And who are you, miss? A friend of hers?” the constable asked. “No, this young lady is my cousin, visiting from Ireland,” Barney said before I could reply. “Where did you come into contact with this person, Molly?” Come into contact was the right description and I would have smiled, had not the situation been so tragic. “In the village, right outside the saloon.” “Do you know her name then, miss?” the constable asked. “I only know that she’s a visitor to the area and she told me her name is Margie McAlister.”
