"Had he been drinking?" I asked.

"I don't know. I've been all tied up with this funeral business. But that's not all. I have to find out about Annie. It's killing me to not know what happened."

"Howie, I really feel for you but you've had this problem of not knowing about your past for a long time and you've managed to live with it. You've had the option of going back with Quinn and you opted not to. That was your choice. Now you have Julie, a nice home and a future looking you in the face. Come on back to New Hampshire and get on with your life and forget about history."

"You're right. I know you're right. But could you do one favor? I hate to ask, but it's really important. Could you just talk to the guy who got out of jail; the one everyone thought killed my sister? You're smart and I know he wouldn't fool you; you'd know if he was lying. It's just something I want to know. Can you do this one last favor for me?" Maybe because I was half asleep I agreed to consider talking to a sex offender personally. Then I remembered Detective Jackson.

"Howie, you have to talk to the Keene police. You can't wait until you get back. They'll think you're hiding something."

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"I didn't know why he was calling or who he was. But now I am hiding something! What can I say to him without lying?"

Good question, I thought. The choice was a bold faced lie to the authorities or finding himself on Good Morning America and The Today Show as the notorious tipster.

"You could play dumb," I hedged. "Say you never saw him . . ."

"I did! I saw the bastard try and snatch a kid with his slug of a brother!"

"Technically, what you saw was an image of the Bryce brothers."

"Like that's going to satisfy the police . . ." I didn't have an answer. "Julie says I should just lie and say I don't know him and have no idea who he is."

"The bottom line is; it's up to you, Howie. It's your choice."

"Why do I always have to make the decisions?" he whined.

Because it's your life, Howie, I wanted to say but didn't. We finally ended the conversation.

The next morning Molly beat us awake by enough time for her to make oatmeal and toast and hand deliver it to our bed. She was a sweet girl and I'd truly miss her when she returned to her mother, and presumably her stepfather. I felt reasonably human though laughing remained a no-no and the pills were necessary desert. After ample coffee and food, we set out, as discussed, on a tour of local campgrounds.




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