Fred Burton stopped shouting. His face crumpled, as fury gave way to anxiety and hurt. “You’re right, Mrs. Levine, and I’m sorry. But it was such a shock”
There is a moment of deep silence, Annie had once read, right before an atomic explosion: an expectant, ghastly millisecond before the thunderous boom.
She thought of that ominous quiet as Fred Burton stared at the group sitting around a scratched coffee table in the Freed Hotel parlor. Standing behind him, a handkerchief grasped too tightly in her white-gloved hands, Alice Burton, too, said nothing.
And then came the fiery blast.
“Where is my daughter?” Mr. Burton roared, in a voice that was half growl, half shout. Yeruchum stood up, put out a calming hand that Fred Burton pointedly ignored.
“Mr. Burton—”
“Don’t ‘Mr. Burton’ me. My daughter has been staying here, and if she’s gone I want to know where.”
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