advised caution.
“Pell County isn’t Atlanta, Amara,” he said. “Be careful.”
On my fourth day there, I left Lorraine dozing beside her physical therapist on the porch, collected prescriptions at Pruitt’s Pharmacy in Halvorsen Springs, and stopped at the Magnolia Diner for its excellent catfish.
Nothing I wore suggested my profession. I neither announced me nor displayed credentials; I ordered lunch.
Twenty-two minutes later, Voss arrested me. Legalarrest guides
The station was six minutes away. Voss drove one-handed, humming to country music. He occasionally smiled at me in the mirror.
