Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. "Your detective has been remiss in his duty; let him suffer for it.
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