ALPHAS COMMAND
“Our wedding reception was cut short because of the storm. When I talked with Grace on the phone before she moved, she said she was a concert violinist. You remember was a fiddle player. I’m thinking that was what she had in
common with him—why he left her the place.”
That’s right. I’d spent a full week with Grace, and she hadn’t shared anything about that part of her life. Sure, I knew she had thirty-seven freckles on her shoulder, and her left nipple was more sensitive than the right. Music? It hadn’t come up. She’d been as sidetracked as me.
“Call her, Rocky,” Jenny said, setting her peeled potato in a bowl and grabbing another. She glanced at Layla. “How much potato salad do we need?”
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