Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts. Oriental rugs adorned the sea of shiny hardwood floors, kept polished with an eye for detail that bordered on Japanese. Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. "Good bye!" cried Mrs. She placed the freezer back on top of Ray Plote's old hiding place, now his permanent resting place. He staggered back a few paces; and, before he could recover himself, Thames tripped up his heels, and, placing the point of the spike at his throat, threatened to stab him if he attempted to stir, or cry out.
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