Connie stared at her little friend, who now was etching a face on the dusty bus window.
“What ails you, Veve?” she asked. “Didn’t you like Mr. Hooper?”
“’Course, I did.”
“Then what put such a thought into your head? He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Maybe not,” Veve admitted, “but some of the orchard owners beat their pickers.”
Connie had become a bit annoyed. She was quite certain Veve had no reason for making such remarks.
“How do you know?” she demanded.
“Because I saw it.”
“You saw it?” Connie echoed in disbelief. “Well, I didn’t. And I’ve been with you every minute this afternoon.”
Veve smoothed wrinkles from her skirt. “I saw it from the tree,” she revealed. “That was what made me fall. I was so startled.”