Joe. She'd noticed something else
tooat the time. She'd been reading the newspaper and looking at the picturesand some one thing had struck
her as proof that Anna Marie hadn't shot Big Joe. Jake had shut her up and changed the subject quick. She'd
become too concerned over the way Jake had spoken to think any more about the murderand since then she'd
never been able to remember what it was.
That wasn't important nowanywayexcept as something to puzzle over in the long winter nights. Even if she
could rememberit wouldn't help Anna Marie now.
She drove down to Division Street and turned into Clarkmoving slowly through the fog. Happy Hour? No
that wasn't it. She passed Bughouse Squarecrossed Chicago Avenue. Clark Street was drearier than usual in
the smoke-laden fog; pawnshopscheap clothing storestawdry night spotssaloons.
There it was. The Happy Days. Silly of her to have forgotten.
She parked the convertible around the corner on Ontario Street.
What on earth was she going to say or do when she got inside? March up to one of the waiters and sayLook
here
how is my husband mixed up in Joe Childers' murder?What the devil did she expect to see or find?
Helene shivered in the damp air.
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