“Unlocking Secrets: What Lies Within Carrie Mac’s Mysterious Three Envelopes?”
“Don’t worry.” I spot Dale. He’s got both hands on the stretcher—still parked in the ambulance—head bowed, like he’s praying. “It’s just her breakfast.”
A firetruck parks across the street, the wheeze of the brakes cutting between the traffic report on the car stereo and the screams of the woman I still can’t see.
“That’s the driver.” The cop gestures to the house. “She’s inside.”
I lift the woman’s jaw to put in an airway, but she’s still chewing—on her tongue, her cheek, a mouthful of blood. I twist the airway in anyway, but it sticks out too far, not doing much good.
