“Did she go for a walk?” I ask. Clarke stops short. Richard’s head swivels slowly. “What did you say?” Clarke demands. “I-I . . . ,” I stammer. It’s the most harmless explanation. She goes for a walk every morning like clockwork. What if today’s went long? Maybe Vanessa bundled up for a stroll and then had more energy than she thought. Instead of walking the usual route around the neighborhood, she decided to go an extra mile or two. “You’re right that her sneakers aren’t by the front door,” Clarke says, looking at me funny. “But she’s not on a walk, Devon. If she were, she would’ve taken her
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