Nothing had improved since the day before: the house smelled damp and musty. In fact, yesterday she hadn’t even noticed the trail of muddy footprints that the various representatives of the law had added to her less-than-pristine kitchen floor. And she wasn’t sure if she could run any water, or if her entire plumbing system was considered a crime scene. She amused herself by picturing the Granford police impounding all of her pipes as evidence, but sobered quickly. Should she call someone and ask? Or would they call her? She fished her cell phone out of her bag and discovered that her battery had died. She set Christopher’s bag of apples on the countertop, plugged the phone into the kitchen charger, then put on some coffee. She’d had only one cup at Rachel’s, and then she’d been tramping around the orchard in the cold, and she really deserved some hot caffeine. She had just filled a cup when there was a rapping at her front door. I thought Granford was rural and quiet.
