On the same day, six hundred was withdrawn at a gas station ATM outside of Kankakee, Illinois, an hour or so south of Chicago, and the next day, another six hundred, this time at a bank near the Illinois state capitol, Springfield, as though nothing had happened. Darla, Shelby, Uther, even Tommy had come to the same conclusion. The person making the withdrawals hadn’t gotten word of the murder, nor had he or she made any attempt to get in touch with Reverend Aldridge. There were no calls, no emails, and no text messages. It was up to Uther to find the so-called pattern or they would be back asking for another three grand, something Shelby didn’t want to do. Worse, aside from the money, they were at a dead end—no leads and no suspects. Tommy had his singing. For Darla there was nothing to do but wait.She sat in her office and filled the empty afternoon fuming over Marietta Simmons. The jealous, lying socialite had tried to frame Dr. Nicoletti for murder and was going to walk away with clean hands.
