Michael Malone - Weebly

Except his posture and his conversation. I'm talking
about Lance. I'm talking about your son who brought a
barely pubescent girl whom nobody ever heard of to
our home, then merrily wanders off while she drowns in
our swimming pool. And all he can think of to do about
it is break his hand boxing with the hood of his g.d.
car."
The hammer thudded on the rug.
"Really, Priss, I must insist." Tracy's cheeks were
red as stop signs and signaled, in fact, exactly that.
"Beanie, I didn't know Lance was involved, or I would
have have told you."
"Where is he?" whispered Beanie.
"Qui sait? No one's seen him; certainly not the
Strummers, whom Ernest and I went to call on just
now, under the impression that someone should offer
them some explanation since they were not even aware
that their child had been invited to our party. Just as I
was not aware of it. Apparently, she sneaked out of her
room." Priss lit a cigarette and took one of Tracy's pots
for an ashtray.
Beanie tugged at Tracy's hands. "The girl's dead?