Booktree.ng_Forgotten-Witness

could not only explain her mother’s disappearance and her
father’s betrayal, she wanted it.
Crouching in a runner’s stance, Josie decided that if she was
going to go, the time was now. Intellectual commitment,
though, was far different from physical action and she fell
back more than once. Finally, calling on every ounce of
fortitude she possessed, Josie counted to three, pushed off and
sprinted toward the house. She kept low even when she
slipped through the back door.
Josie paused, listened, and heard nothing except the sound
of her own ragged breathing. She bit her bottom lip and
realized that she had lied to Amelia. She did pray. That very
second she was praying that the sound of her breathing didn’t
reverberate through the old house; she was praying that she
would see Archer and Hannah again; she was praying that this
night would end soon.
Josie pushed away from the wall and threw herself into
Reynolds’ office. One look at him sitting behind his desk, a
neat shot between his eyes, told Josie that he knew who had
done this. Unless she stumbled over Johnson’s body, she had
to assume he was the shooter. Like a bull, Josie breathed hard
through her nose. As she worked, she thanked God that the
light was minimal so that she didn’t have to stare at Bernard
Reynolds’ sightless eyes. In seconds Josie had ripped the
office apart: dumping drawers, pulling open cabinets, and
rummaging through his desk after she gathered the courage to
push Reynolds’ chair away.
There wasn’t much but Josie took what she could carry: the
calendar, a stack of papers, a small address book. She stuffed
these things into a bag she found in the closet. She would sort
it all out later. Then she noticed the trashcan and went back to
grab the crumpled papers inside. She plucked them out,
smoothed them as best she could, and then held one up to the
window as she tried to make out what was written on it.
***