“We were just hoping to talk to her,” I said.
The man’s brow lifted slightly. “Are you selling something? Wait -- why do you look familiar?” Narrowing his eyes, he gazed at us with suspicion. Then, suddenly, recognition must have struck him because his eyes widened. “You’re those people from the news.”
“It’s alright, Ryan,” a woman said, stepping around him. She was in her fifties, with a plain bob haircut and a pastel blouse with white pants. She carried a small bag from a pharmacy, dangling from her wrist. “It would be rude to send these two away without offering them something to drink.”
Logan and I glanced at each other, then back to the mother-son pair.
“Forgive me, ma’am,” Logan said. “Are you Janice Weathers?”
“I am,” the woman – Janice – said. Sighing, she walked past her son
