“My daughter isn’t disabled,” she explained. “My daughter is Jessica. And Jessica has autism.” I frowned at her. I still wasn’t getting it... my embarrassment growing. Trying to mask the move by scratching a pretend itch at my temple, I discreetly wiped the sweat from my brow. “’Disabled’ is a label that defines someone.” Bree’s tone was patient, her brown eyes serious. “’Person with a disability’ is a description of something they have. The person comes first, not the disability.” “Oh, okay,” I. ‘You know what a mess they are?’ ‘Just like I said,’ Ann replied. ‘We aren’t around enough to take care of a dog. Sheesh, try listening before you jump at me, Ruthie.’ Kaylee got up, she was working the breakfast shift and she was going to be late. ‘I think I’ll call the detectives in charge of the case. My weirdo could be the same guy as their killer. They’d want to know, right?’ * * * * Homicide detective Gabriel Hampton was thinking the same thing. He’d spent the past two days out on the. More

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