A Slice of Blueberry Pie Broke Eight Years of My Son’s Silence
I looked down at the departure date printed next to the flight numbers.
The plane was due to leave Columbus at seven in the morning on October fourteenth.
“October fourteenth,” I said slowly.
“It was the only week the resort had a free cabin,” Zane said.
The deadline for filing grand jury evidence was October fifteenth.
Frank had told me the county prosecutor needed every signed affidavit on his desk by noon that Tuesday.
“That’s three weeks from now,” I said.
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