"Well, let's see," I said, unsnapping her wallet and extracting her driver's license. "You're name is Ellen Norvald, you live at 128 South High Street...and you're..."—I glanced down at her date of birth—"Oh yes, I'd say more than old enough to go to jail."Her eyes were blank behind her glasses, and she seemed frozen in place. She said nothing... not until I actually turned and picked up the phone. Then she said, "No!" but it came out as little more than a strangled squeak.I put the phone back on. “They trust me,” Cathy responded. “Sometimes, they leave me at home alone for days at a time while they go off on trips.” Cathy sat back down on the couch. I sauntered off to the hall closet and grabbed a blanket and some pillows for her. When I returned, I immediately noticed Cathy had jettisoned her shorts and she was clad only in her pink undies and t-shirt, her feet propped up on the coffee table. “I was going to say ‘get comfortable’,” I remarked as I placed a blanket and two pillows on. More

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