"She was the bad one in the family," her mother had told the judge. "The others all turned out good. Don't know what happened with her."

A small gray cylinder of ash dislodged from the cigarette in her mouth and fluttered to the ground, shedding flakes and ash bits all the way down. She stared into the moody water as she reeled the line in slowly. A movement to her right caught her attention and she looked.

She saw a skinny man in a white short-sleeve shirt about fifty feet downstream. He was wearing a tie. For some reason, this irritated Dawn.

It just — irritated her.

Dale tried to keep his eyes off the dark-haired woman. His hands shook as he cast his line into the water. He was terrified. What am I doing here? he thought. What the hell am I doing?

He stared straight ahead, his head and body immovable like a stump of wood hammered into the riverbank. Whatever color he'd had in his face had drained into the ground around him like white blood.

What the hell am I doing?