"Mrs. Foster says that her husband has threatened you from time to time," Wainright told him."I didn't take it serious," Ned answered, "but I guess he...did. Mostly Tory jabber. Told me he'd sic the dog on me, have me charged with trespassing, bring the militia down on me, that sort of thing. He drinks some. Puts a bottle of plonk away at his supper." Hm," Wainright pondered, pursing his mouth. "That might help. Did he ever hit you or threaten to strike you?" No, not till this last time when he. ..." And on I talked. And on he listened.THEY HOST DINNERTwo days later, I was driving to their home.They lived on Pleasant Street. Theirs was a comfortable looking bungalowin the 2000 square foot range. A well-manicured front lawn without anysigns of weeds or grubs in it, some hanging baskets of red annuals by thewindows, and a small sign by the front door that said 'Jones'. That wouldbe their surname. Rikki, Brianna, and Belinda Jones. Mine was 'Loving'.I rang the doorbell. The twins. More

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