to go out at all.
Maybe that would distract me from my lingering reaction to Lizzie Snow: that I didn’t like her or trust her. For one thing, she’d put our friend Chip in a jam. True, he’d helped her do it with his own inexplicable deceptiveness on the subject of where he’d been last night. But that didn’t change the fact that she was hiding something, too, I’d have bet my new claw hammer on it.
And on top of that was the undeniable pang of envy I felt, meeting a woman as smart and stylish as I’d been, once upon a time. Not that I didn’t love my life, but still: back then I could hike fast from Times Square to SoHo in three-inch heels, not even breaking a sweat. Nowadays I couldn’t take two steps in the kind of high-stacked boots Lizzie was wearing; was there such a thing as too comfortable? I found myself wondering.
So yeah, maybe a walk in the weather would clear my head, I thought as I confronted the shiny makeup-free zone that was my face in the hall mirror. Nothing snazzy had magically appeared in the closet, so I pulled on an old denim jacket of Sam’s, thinking it would at least keep me warm and—I hoped—reasonably dry. I mean, the weather couldn’t have gotten that much worse in the short time we’d been indoors, could it?
Wrong: as soon as we stepped out into the rising storm, I knew we’d made a mistake.
But hey, at least I wasn’t worrying about how I looked.
H alf-frozen rain pellets hit my face like a barrage of icy bullets. All the way down Key Street, the wind buffeted us first one way, then shoved us the other.
“We should’ve taken the car!” Elllie shouted, but driving in this wouldn’t have been any picnic, either. On Water Street, spray surged up over the rocky riprap lining the harbor, rain hammered the plate glass windows of the stores, and wind howled like a wild animal demanding to be let out of a cage.
Staggering, we let ourselves be blown toward Bob Arnold’s new office in the old A&P grocery store building, across from the massive granite post office structure. Fighting to keep the glass door from tearing off its hinges when she hauled it open, Ellie shoved me inside, hurled herself in after me, and muscled the big door closed again with both hands.
Bob Arnold saw us from his desk, in his new headquarters’ large open-plan office area. Scowling, he heaved himself up out of his new office chair and came from behind his new desk. Pausing to sneeze twice—the place smelled like fresh drywall compound—he advanced upon us.
“What’re you two doing out?” Pink and plump, with a few hair strands slicked back from a domed forehead, Bob had a round face, light blond lashes around light eyes, and a pink rosebud mouth that didn’t look at all as if it belonged on a police officer.
His harmless appearance served him well, however, since on account of it many guys didn’t put up a fight early, and by the time they realized their mistake he’d already snapped the handcuffs on them. And even if they did fight, they learned pretty swiftly that looks can be deceiving, which I hoped they were now because Bob looked mad as the dickens.
“What,” he demanded again, “do you think you’re—”
He stopped in frustration. Past him in the office area were six identical desks, each with a phone, a laptop computer, a chair, and a wastebasket. On one wall hung a classroom-sized whiteboard, a large calendar, and a big white-faced clock.
The opposite wall, on the street side, had been the front of the old A&P where the weekly specials on pot roasts, paper goods, and sweet corn had been postered. Now white venetian blinds covered the windows, their louvered slats almost shutting out the rattle of rain mixed with sleet outside.
“Ugh,” I said, pulling off wet outerwear. After the walk down here, I already felt like somebody had been hitting me with one of my own hammers, and this place wasn’t helping any. Besides the drywall compound, it smelled like latex paint,
Maybe that would distract me from my lingering reaction to Lizzie Snow: that I didn’t like her or trust her. For one thing, she’d put our friend Chip in a jam. True, he’d helped her do it with his own inexplicable deceptiveness on the subject of where he’d been last night. But that didn’t change the fact that she was hiding something, too, I’d have bet my new claw hammer on it.
And on top of that was the undeniable pang of envy I felt, meeting a woman as smart and stylish as I’d been, once upon a time. Not that I didn’t love my life, but still: back then I could hike fast from Times Square to SoHo in three-inch heels, not even breaking a sweat. Nowadays I couldn’t take two steps in the kind of high-stacked boots Lizzie was wearing; was there such a thing as too comfortable? I found myself wondering.
So yeah, maybe a walk in the weather would clear my head, I thought as I confronted the shiny makeup-free zone that was my face in the hall mirror. Nothing snazzy had magically appeared in the closet, so I pulled on an old denim jacket of Sam’s, thinking it would at least keep me warm and—I hoped—reasonably dry. I mean, the weather couldn’t have gotten that much worse in the short time we’d been indoors, could it?
Wrong: as soon as we stepped out into the rising storm, I knew we’d made a mistake.
But hey, at least I wasn’t worrying about how I looked.
H alf-frozen rain pellets hit my face like a barrage of icy bullets. All the way down Key Street, the wind buffeted us first one way, then shoved us the other.
“We should’ve taken the car!” Elllie shouted, but driving in this wouldn’t have been any picnic, either. On Water Street, spray surged up over the rocky riprap lining the harbor, rain hammered the plate glass windows of the stores, and wind howled like a wild animal demanding to be let out of a cage.
Staggering, we let ourselves be blown toward Bob Arnold’s new office in the old A&P grocery store building, across from the massive granite post office structure. Fighting to keep the glass door from tearing off its hinges when she hauled it open, Ellie shoved me inside, hurled herself in after me, and muscled the big door closed again with both hands.
Bob Arnold saw us from his desk, in his new headquarters’ large open-plan office area. Scowling, he heaved himself up out of his new office chair and came from behind his new desk. Pausing to sneeze twice—the place smelled like fresh drywall compound—he advanced upon us.
“What’re you two doing out?” Pink and plump, with a few hair strands slicked back from a domed forehead, Bob had a round face, light blond lashes around light eyes, and a pink rosebud mouth that didn’t look at all as if it belonged on a police officer.
His harmless appearance served him well, however, since on account of it many guys didn’t put up a fight early, and by the time they realized their mistake he’d already snapped the handcuffs on them. And even if they did fight, they learned pretty swiftly that looks can be deceiving, which I hoped they were now because Bob looked mad as the dickens.
“What,” he demanded again, “do you think you’re—”
He stopped in frustration. Past him in the office area were six identical desks, each with a phone, a laptop computer, a chair, and a wastebasket. On one wall hung a classroom-sized whiteboard, a large calendar, and a big white-faced clock.
The opposite wall, on the street side, had been the front of the old A&P where the weekly specials on pot roasts, paper goods, and sweet corn had been postered. Now white venetian blinds covered the windows, their louvered slats almost shutting out the rattle of rain mixed with sleet outside.
“Ugh,” I said, pulling off wet outerwear. After the walk down here, I already felt like somebody had been hitting me with one of my own hammers, and this place wasn’t helping any. Besides the drywall compound, it smelled like latex paint,
Similar Books
