“Fran, I’ve got somewhere else I have to go. Will you be all right here for a while?”

“Kennesaw, you get on and do what you have to do. My daughter will be here soon, and you’ve done more than enough already,” she said.

“All right,” I replied as I stood. “Call me immediately if there’s any change.”

I leaned over, and we exchanged a kiss.

“I will, honey. And thank you for everything. You’ve been a lifesaver.”

“All right, Fran. Bye.”

“Bye, darling.”

I would have to step on it if I was to meet Patricia at the bus station by four o’clock.

“You shouldn’t have,” Patricia remarked when we got out of the car and she saw the flowers in my hand.

“I didn’t, Patricia.”

She gave me a playful face as we mounted the steps. At the porch, I knocked on the door.

“Come in,” spoke a faint voice.

We entered the darkened room. I took Patricia by the elbow and guided her to the corner where Amber lay on her bed.

“Amber,” I said as I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “This is my friend Patricia Latham. She’s the police lady I told you about. She’d like to hear the story you told me.

“And these,” I said as I placed the bouquet of flowers in her hands, “are for you.”

Amber held the flowers on her breast and stared at them with wonder. With the tips of her fingers she gently touched the petals of each blossom, then brought the spray to her nose and drew in a breath.

“I never had no flowers—never in my life. Nobody has ever brought me flowers before, Kenny-saw. Never,” she exhaled in a raspy voice. “This is just too...”

She began to weep, the tears puddling in the corner of her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

Patricia lifted a hand to her throat and stifled a sob. “Well, I thought you deserved them,” I said. “And I think you make the flowers look pretty.”

“I make the flowers look pretty—you funny, Kenny-saw.”

“Can I put them in some water for you, Amber?” I asked.

“Not right now,” she replied in a small voice. “I’d like to hold on to them for a little while.”

“Whatever you like, Amber. Whatever makes you happy. Is your sister home this afternoon?” I asked.

“No, she workin’ the second shift at the port—she and her husband, Willamon. But you ain’t got to worry ’bout them. I own this house, not them. I have who I want to here, and they ain’t got no say about it.”

“Okay, Amber. Do you feel up to speaking with Patricia?”

“Yes, I do. Sit down, pretty lady,” she said to Patricia as she continued to finger the flowers. “Sit down and ask yo’ questions. I tell you anything you want to know.”