“Sheila and Mark McCloskey?” Michelle asked. “To begin with, I was—I was in the divorce court. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. “Lucy! Where is my daughter? Where have you. ” “You came to tell me this?” “I came for you,” he declared fiercely.
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