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of the Fallen Angels. I had to get my name off the suspect list and that meant finding Rory’s murderer. We needed to compare stories. Shaking off her gaze, I took a bite of my chicken salad. I didn’t understand why she didn’t want the club to get together.
    â€œEveryone will want to meet,” I said. “We have to talk about Rory’s death.” I leaned in for emphasis. “He was killed the same way as the guy in the club’s book.”
    â€œHollis, you’re not listening. I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She repeated her words as if putting an objection on record. “Don’t you think that with our backgrounds it’ll look like we tried to cover things up?”
    â€œI hear you.” I decided to start over. “Clearly, you’re not hearing me. Like you said, it’s not like we’re just some ordinary book club. We all have reasons for getting this thing resolved fast. We need to talk about what happened.”
    â€œI know. That’s my point. I don’t want it to look like some group conspiracy to come up with a story. That’s how I got into trouble in the first place.” Abby’s face was flushed and her hand shook as she reached for her glass of water. I often wondered why she had served time, but she never offered to tell me and I was too polite to ask. I took our club’s oath of “don’t ask, don’t tell” to heart.
    I pretended not to see her reaction. My head didn’t itch, but I scratched it anyway. “You just can’t run away from the fact that Rory was killed like the villain in a book our club read. Doesn’t that worry an ex-con like you?”
    Her jaw tightened. “Yes, it does. Don’t you get it? I’m sick and tired of worrying.” Her voice rose. “I’m sick and tired of jumping every time I hear a door slam. Of sitting up every time I hear a bell ring.”
    â€œAbby—”
    â€œHonestly, I’m sorry about Rory.” She was loud enough to attract the attention of the diners at the next table. “Yet I can’t … I can’t care about him.”
    I lowered my voice. “Listen to me. You need to care who might have killed him. We may all be in trouble.”
    Abby ran her ringed fingers through her hair. “Okay, okay. I’ll call a meeting and set a date as soon as I hear back from the others.”
    Without another word, she wiped her mouth with a napkin, got up and left me there to finish my salad.
    For once I didn’t feel like dashing back to work. I ordered another cup of tea and pondered the Fallen Angels. The club had helped save my sanity. It was like my personal halfway house. I didn’t have to hide who I was; we all shared a life-altering experience. I had a hard time thinking people who loved books were anything but basically good. Still, I had to face the real possibility that one of my book-reading kindred spirit club members might have killed Rory.
    I’d grown comfortable with the group when it was just the original members, but a few weeks ago Richard had wanted to add one more—Rena.
    I wasn’t thrilled. “Not so fast. I’m not trying to be a spoiler, but we’ve lasted as a group these past three years because of the trust we’ve built up over time.”
    â€œI can’t believe you’re so resistant,” Abby said. “You’re the one who always complains about how limited our viewpoints are. Jeffry and Richard checked her out. Now we have an opportunity to reach out to someone else who’s looking for a connection back to the real world, and you’re up in arms, arguing ‘no change.’ ”
    She was right, of course. Jeffry Wallace was another thing we had in common. He had been the parole officer for all of us at one time or another. There were very few people in this world I trusted unconditionally. Actually, there was only one, Jeffry. The