butter and a half bottle of Merlot, a combination so good she put it on her list of all-time favorite meals.
After the dishes were done, she halfheartedly picked up Matt Landry’s book and settled down to go to work. Three hours later she winced as she untucked and stretched her legs, stunned that she’d been so caught up in what she’d thought would be a series of dry statistics that she had barely moved.
She took a mental step back and thought about what she’d read. Employing fiction techniques, Landry had made the nonfiction work read like a novel, telling with relentless unfolding the catastrophic effects of man’s disregard for his home. He’d ended the first section with the race to find cures for viruses that turned human organs into unfunctioning, gelatinous incubators ready to infect the next unprotected and unwary passerby, viruses unleashed by man’s disregard for the balance of nature.
The man could write. She would give him that. And she was beginning to understand why and how his arguments worked with a jury. The key to winning a case where he was called to testify would be in the jury selection.
And in her ability to find reason in her opposing argument,
something that grew more difficult the more she read.
She went outside to walk around and work out the kinks while thinking about and absorbing the ideas Landry had presented. The waves carried a gentle breeze, heavy with moisture and smelling of brine. At the top of the stairs, with her hands at the small of her back, she leaned to one side and then the other, her gaze sweeping the moonlit beach. Joe and Maggie’s house, her house for the month, sat in the exact middle of the cove, with twelve houses on each side. Most were cottages, some had small additions, and a couple bordered on ostentatious, filling their lots like size eight pants on a size twelve body. The pine and eucalyptus trees growing on, behind, and around the lots gave shelter to perching birds and squirrels and the occasional chipmunk.
The residents accommodated the wildlife, studiously obeying the posted twenty-five-mile speed limit, even stopping traffic to scoot fledgling birds or a slow-moving raccoon out of the way.
The community wasn’t gated, but dead-end streets discouraged all but the most intrepidly curious, giving a sense of security she knew better than to accept but still enjoyed. At home she would not venture out alone at night the way she was now. Just walking on the beach by herself would have friends questioning her sanity. If small-town America survived, it was in places like this, where neighbors knew and looked out for each other. Kelly had yet to see half the residents on her floor at her high-rise apartment building, let alone know them by name.
She was back at the house, sitting on the deck, when a rustling noise beside the house startled her. She waited, not moving, barely breathing, hoping it was the cat and not wanting to frighten it.
It wasn’t the cat, it was Andrew. “I thought I saw you out here.” He came down the abandoned path that ran in front of the deck. “Beautiful night, huh?”
“Breathtaking. I keep expecting the dreaded fog that everyone warned me about, but every day has been prettier than the last.”
“Well, you’ve done it now. The fog’s sure to roll in tomorrow.” He stopped but didn’t open the gate to the waist-high railing that surrounded the deck. “If you want people to think you’re a native, never talk about the fog unless it’s all around you.”
She smiled. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll be more careful about what I say from now on.” She went to the gate to open it for him. “Would you like to come in for a drink? I found a local Merlot that’s wonderful.”
“I wish I could, but the security company that makes rounds at the nursery just called. There’s a broken pipe in one of the greenhouses. I’m hoping it’s something simple, but if it isn’t, I’m liable to be out there all night. In which
After the dishes were done, she halfheartedly picked up Matt Landry’s book and settled down to go to work. Three hours later she winced as she untucked and stretched her legs, stunned that she’d been so caught up in what she’d thought would be a series of dry statistics that she had barely moved.
She took a mental step back and thought about what she’d read. Employing fiction techniques, Landry had made the nonfiction work read like a novel, telling with relentless unfolding the catastrophic effects of man’s disregard for his home. He’d ended the first section with the race to find cures for viruses that turned human organs into unfunctioning, gelatinous incubators ready to infect the next unprotected and unwary passerby, viruses unleashed by man’s disregard for the balance of nature.
The man could write. She would give him that. And she was beginning to understand why and how his arguments worked with a jury. The key to winning a case where he was called to testify would be in the jury selection.
And in her ability to find reason in her opposing argument,
something that grew more difficult the more she read.
She went outside to walk around and work out the kinks while thinking about and absorbing the ideas Landry had presented. The waves carried a gentle breeze, heavy with moisture and smelling of brine. At the top of the stairs, with her hands at the small of her back, she leaned to one side and then the other, her gaze sweeping the moonlit beach. Joe and Maggie’s house, her house for the month, sat in the exact middle of the cove, with twelve houses on each side. Most were cottages, some had small additions, and a couple bordered on ostentatious, filling their lots like size eight pants on a size twelve body. The pine and eucalyptus trees growing on, behind, and around the lots gave shelter to perching birds and squirrels and the occasional chipmunk.
The residents accommodated the wildlife, studiously obeying the posted twenty-five-mile speed limit, even stopping traffic to scoot fledgling birds or a slow-moving raccoon out of the way.
The community wasn’t gated, but dead-end streets discouraged all but the most intrepidly curious, giving a sense of security she knew better than to accept but still enjoyed. At home she would not venture out alone at night the way she was now. Just walking on the beach by herself would have friends questioning her sanity. If small-town America survived, it was in places like this, where neighbors knew and looked out for each other. Kelly had yet to see half the residents on her floor at her high-rise apartment building, let alone know them by name.
She was back at the house, sitting on the deck, when a rustling noise beside the house startled her. She waited, not moving, barely breathing, hoping it was the cat and not wanting to frighten it.
It wasn’t the cat, it was Andrew. “I thought I saw you out here.” He came down the abandoned path that ran in front of the deck. “Beautiful night, huh?”
“Breathtaking. I keep expecting the dreaded fog that everyone warned me about, but every day has been prettier than the last.”
“Well, you’ve done it now. The fog’s sure to roll in tomorrow.” He stopped but didn’t open the gate to the waist-high railing that surrounded the deck. “If you want people to think you’re a native, never talk about the fog unless it’s all around you.”
She smiled. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll be more careful about what I say from now on.” She went to the gate to open it for him. “Would you like to come in for a drink? I found a local Merlot that’s wonderful.”
“I wish I could, but the security company that makes rounds at the nursery just called. There’s a broken pipe in one of the greenhouses. I’m hoping it’s something simple, but if it isn’t, I’m liable to be out there all night. In which
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