A Four-Dollar Worn Shawl to Wear to Belle Meade
I rode all the way down to the underground garage in total silence.
Margaret had parked her silver sedan near the concrete exit ramp.
The engine was already running.
I opened the heavy passenger door and dropped onto the leather seat beside her.
“You weren’t even gone ten minutes, honey,” Margaret said.
I unlocked my phone.
I opened the photo gallery and held the phone out across the center console.
Margaret leaned over.