Annabelle walked along the sidewalk checking addresses, looking down at her torn paper, then back up again to the numbers on the buildings. Jake hadn’t risen this morning no matter how hard she pounded on his door, so she had ventured out to find Liddy Parker’s address on her own. She needed to ask Sofie a few more questions—she didn’t want to scare the girl, just find out who was on the plane. Annabelle stopped in front of a brick condominium building with a metal plaque stating that the structure dated from 1773. A flash of something Knox once said came to her. They’d been in Paris on vacation, just the two of them, drinking too much red wine, going to art museums and historic places, eating food they couldn’t pronounce and making love to the sound of Parisians on the street below. Later, she and Knox had stood in front of a building with a plaque on it. He’d shaken his head, touched the date. “Eight hundred years old. And we think we have old buildings in South Carolina,”
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