Chapter one
A Very Small Rescue
The photograph escaped first, sliding from MarGo’s fingers with the neat determination of a thing that had somewhere else to be. The folded note followed. One moment she stood on the Wells Street bridge holding the evidence of an afternoon she had forgotten; the next, she was trying to catch two pieces of paper above the Chicago River while her canvas tote hit her repeatedly in the hip.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
The photograph rose. MarGo lunged after it, caught only air, and knocked the loose lid off her charcoal tin. Three sticks rolled over the pavement toward the railing. Behind her, someone said, “I have it,” with a confidence she would have resented if he had been wrong.
