"Not a chance." Lifting a hand to the man who'd killed her father, Frank walked away.
Outside the station, under the balmy Los Angeles dusk, a sickle moon winked over the freeway. Frank stopped to look at it. She thought about Noah, how many times they'd said good night, right here, under this same moon. She thought about her mother and father. About Mary in a midnight phone booth. About Annie's angels and Darcy's tutelary gods.
Ridiculous tears sprang up again. Frank blinked them back. She nodded at the blurry moon.
"Yeah, okay," she whispered. "Maybe so."
Slipping her key into the Honda, she realized she didn't want that drink anymore.
About the Author.
Baxter Clare is a wildlife biologist by vocation and a writer by avocation. She never intended to write mysteries but the L.A. Franco character rented a room in her imagination one morning and has been there ever since. This is her fifth L.A. Franco mystery.
In a ceremony at San Francisco City Hall she married her lifetime partner, artist Ann Marie O'Connor. They live in the rugged La Panza mountain range of California's central coast, and Clare ventures regularly from chaparral wilderness to the urban wilds of South Central Los Angeles.
end.