Booktree.ng_Forgotten-Witness

home in her own good time. Josie had been ready to accept
that until now.
She wiped at her eyes, shook off her self-pity, and let her
melancholy go on the fog of her breath. Longing for
something was never productive. If it were, her mother would
have come back long ago.
Josie walked until government buildings gave way to
restaurants and stores. Those melted into brownstone
neighborhoods and then apartments. Soon she would be out of
the mainstream altogether. She paused to look at a menu
posted in a restaurant window but the place was too lively for
her to concentrate properly. She had already checked out of
her hotel, but her bag was still there. She could work in the
lobby while she waited for the shuttle, yet for some reason she
didn’t want to be predictable. Josie settled on the familiar and
walked into the first Starbucks she came upon. Grateful for the
blast of warmth, she peeled off her gloves, unbuttoned her
coat, and waited in line.
“Coffee,” she ordered when she reached the counter.
“Just coffee?” The barista seemed disappointed.
Moments later, Josie’s coat was draped over a chair at a
table in the back corner of the L-shaped room. The coffee was
good, her phone was charged. She took a drink and then
Googled Ian Frances.
The first page listings brought up a racehorse’s website, a
few guys who had written novels, an artist in Australia, and a
reference asking her if she meant Francis of Assisi. She
cleared the phone and typed again: Ian Francis.
More authors.
She typed Ian Francis, Canada. She got a haberdasher and a
mathematician.
The next time she tried Ian Francis, A&M University and
found what she was looking for. Ian Francis was a professor of
forensic neurology and imbedded in the article Josie found
was a formal headshot showing a much younger and very