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No thanks. Tonia leaned against the kitchen door frame,
arms crossed. Her dark green sweater clung softly to her breasts.
You haven t forgotten?
Forgotten what?
She closed her eyes wearily. Well, what could you expect
from a thug? My dinner party.
Of course not, I lied. Just fortifying myself. Inwardly,
I cursed. What I really wanted was a hot bath and my bed. Or
a cold shower and my bed. Instead I could look forward to an
evening spent lurking in my car, waiting for Tonia. Great. Well,
that would cool my ardor. And I could kill some of the time going
to see Val. Ready when you are, I told her, tossing Smythe s
jacket over one of the kitchen chairs and exchanging it for my
heavy suede windbreaker.
Tonia gave me a long, unreadable look as I zipped up, and
I tried my best to think about anything but her earlobes. I
mentally whizzed through two verses of Jabberwocky and had
just come to the line about the frumious Bandersnatch when she
turned away. I exhaled heavily, admiring her small, firm, denim-
clad rear end and those long legs as she walked into the living
room to gather up her things. I waited until she was out the
front door and onto the porch before I followed her. As I locked
up, I told myself sternly that this was my client, for God s sake.
Professionalism, Reece. Right.
I drove Tonia to pick up her car from the University parking
lot, and followed her home. It was fully dark, and would soon
rain, I realized. Wonderful. The evening was shaping up to be
truly enjoyable.
I pulled my MG into Tonia s driveway behind her chocolate
Honda Accord and hurried up the walk. She was waiting for me
at the front door of the condominium. As she closed the door
behind me, there was a moment of awkwardness in the hall. I
groaned mentally. Would I have to start that Jabberwocky
stuff again?
58
Caitlin, she said reasonably, turning to face me. In the
cramped space we were maybe two feet apart. I was suddenly
aware of her scent equal parts shampoo, leather jacket and
Tonia. Why
I told myself her question was a professional inquiry, and
tried to control my breathing. Why do I need to come with
you tonight? Simple. Because I ve got a bad feeling, I told her
truthfully. Something about this just isn t right. I don t know
what it is yet, but I will. And I don t think you should be left
alone to play target. That had come out rather well, I thought.
My voice had never even quavered.
She blinked several times, then turned to go upstairs. Go
on in, she told me. I made sure the front door deadbolt was
turned, and went into the living room. I ve got to hurry, she
called from the stairs. You know where everything is from the
other night, I expect. Just help yourself.
I found a beer in the fridge and slumped on the sofa, feigning
a pose of nonchalance: Caitlin Reece, cool, tough private eye.
Always in control. Yup. I snorted, and swallowed the entire beer,
recalling hopefully the devastating effect alcohol always had
on my libido. I prayed for speedy results. Having another beer
seemed like a very good idea, so I did. Then, thinking I d rest for
just a few minutes, I closed my eyes.
Caitlin, someone said softly. A hand shook me awake.
Tonia. I came awake with a start. Mmmph, I muttered.
Sorry. Must be my decongestant. She was sitting on the back
of the sofa, her hand on my shoulder. I prayed for strength and
rose to my feet. Taking a step, I turned and checked to see that
the sofa was indeed between us.
She looked terrific. Her hair was freshly brushed and shiny,
and she had traded her green sweater and jeans for a pair of grey
flannel pants and a blue turtleneck sweater that exactly matched
her eyes. She gave me that unreadable look again, then smiled
quickly. I was glad the couch was where it was. I know you think
you have to come tonight, she said, so I won t try to talk you
out of it, but surely you don t want to wait in the car.
It s not an especially appealing prospect, I agreed.
I thought not, she said. So I ve got a better idea.
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Oh? I inquired, hoping she couldn t read my mind. I, too,
had a better idea.
Yes. I ve called Kay and told her that a friend dropped in
unexpectedly. She doesn t mind. Setting another place for dinner
would be easy, she said. She smiled mysteriously at me. But you
might mind.
I had no intentions of attending this little soiree, dressed as
I was in half of Smythe s Metro Gas uniform, but wondered why
Tonia thought I might mind. Did she imagine me to be so keenly
aware of my low social station that I would be embarrassed to
mingle with the upper crust? Did she believe that we thugs
couldn t tell one fork from another? That we would drink from
the finger bowl? Why might I mind? I asked.
Her eyes sparkled mischief. I hardly think you d feel at
home with three lesbian separatists, a proponent of nonviolence,
and a rather radical lesbian author.
What, no partridge in a pear tree? I inquired
sarcastically.
Tonia actually grinned, and I decided the wisest course of
action was to refuse to rise to her bait. Did she really imagine,
now that I knew the guest list, that I d want to attend and trade
pithy remarks with her dinner party companions? Perhaps she
planned to sit back and snicker as I did verbal battle. Well, I m
afraid I have very little tolerance for philosophic discussions. It
has always seemed so much easier to just do something instead of
talking a subject to death. A sudden image of myself doffing my
.357 Magnum and putting it on the dining room sideboard came
abruptly into my mind, and I chuckled. That might produce
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