“In this neighborhood, they must be married to a judge or doctor or something,” Jameson said.“They could be judges,” Clarrie said.“Why would...a judge go around dressed like June Cleaver?” Jameson asked.“Two points,” Clarrie admitted.“That was at least a 3 pointer,” Jameson said.“Don’t push your luck,” Clarrie said as she pulled into the drive way.A woman waited in a gold colored skirt suit with a clipboard at the front door.Clarrie and Jameson got out and made their way over to the waiting. I rubbed my hands together, blew a little warm air into them, and made my way to the doorbell. The door opened just a moment later. There she stood in a knitted sweater that was a tiny bit too big, sweat pants, and fuzzy slippers. Her long, black hair was frizzled and her cool blue eyes looked sleepy. She was hardly the definition of grace at this moment, but when she wanted to be, she effortlessly did so; she was a short, thin and pale skinned woman, making such grace an ease.“Miss Emily?” I. More

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