These streets possessed no historic architecture or scenic glory, but let a crime catch the fancy of the public and strange things happen. They were happening when Mitch parked his car as close as he could get to Virginia Wales’s house and made his way up the cracked and wavy sidewalk. Culture had come to Valley City. A mobile television unit was parked in front of the house and Virginia’s last abode was being given the full treatment. She would have loved that. Mitch could picture her coming to the door, flashing a big smile at the camera, and inviting all the spectators to come in to see for themselves how Virginia Wales had lived and died. She’d probably stack a few records on the player and mix up some drinks, because Virginia was the kind of gal who loved company and dreaded loneliness. But the grave is a very lonely place. Mitch stood apart from the crowd thinking these strange thoughts and wondering where they came from. It was Monday morning all over again, the same melancholy, the same depression.
