Chapter 32. 11 Pages of Treason

Weston's POV

The old woman came down the drive in the dark with a thermos and a bowl, and Walt Morrow opened the gate for her without a word, and shut it again behind her.

"Eat," Bea Dunlap said, and put the bowl in my hands.

It was chicken and dumplings. Joanne Morrow's, I found out later. I'd been sitting on that tailgate for seven hours, and my hands were too cold to hold the spoon properly, and it was the best thing I'd eaten since a plate of cornbread in a chained cabin.

Bea sat down on the tailgate beside me, uninvited, with her coat pulled tight and the rain dripping off her hat.

"She won't come out," she said. "Not tonight."

"I know."

"Then why are you still sitting here?"