chance. But Greg had seen something special under the tattoos and Day-Glo hair. Boomer had turned out to be a talented artist and computer genius who had just needed someone to believe in him.
About fifteen years ago, Greg inherited money from his grandfather. The funds allowed him to buy and remodel the home we live in and to start Ocean Breeze Graphics. Once his business was established, Greg had used some of the money to start a college scholarship program for his employees. Starting out as Greg’s delivery boy, Boomer had put himself through college with Greg’s assistance. Last year, he approached Greg with a business plan to expand Ocean Breeze outside of California, with him as Greg’s partner. Greg was so proud of Boomer and impressed with the plan, it didn’t take him long to say yes, especially since one of his largest clients was located in Colorado. Next month, we are all meeting in Denver to launch Mountain Breeze Graphics, with future plans for a Desert Breeze Graphics in Phoenix in another year or so. It was exciting times for all of us, and both Greg and I were so proud of Boomer.
But with Boomer gone from the mother ship, Greg had to spend more time at the shop. His new assistant was another long shot who showed promise under the right tutelage. Chris Fowler was a scrawny high-school dropout referred to Greg for part-time work a few years ago by a client. When hired, Greg insisted that part of working for him would include Chris obtaining his GED, which he did. Last September, with help from Ocean Breeze, he started community college. Though not as gifted as Boomer in the arts department, Chris was proving to be a steady hand with the mechanics of the business and a favorite with both the staff and customers, and, like Boomer, there wasn’t a machine in the shop he couldn’t fix or maintain.
Boredom with the chat room set in after only ten minutes. Picking up the novel I was currently reading, I buried my nose in it, only glancing from time to time at the ongoing chat. Seamus was curled on the small loveseat in the corner of the room, and Muffin was a ball of gray fur between the keyboard and the screen. Wainwright was with Greg.
After an hour, there was still no sign of Brian Eddy. I stood up and stretched and went to the kitchen to refresh my teacup. Muffin followed me out to the kitchen. She mewed softly and rubbed my ankles. I tossed her a couple of kitty treats while the tea kettle heated. She was so cute that a part of me hoped Lisa Luke would not want her back.
It was just after nine. Greg had said not to expect him home much before eleven. This chat-room surveillance was dull business, but at least I was getting my reading done, a pastime I loved.
When I returned to the computer a few minutes later, there was still no sign of Knotdead, but there were instant messages from two other folks. One said Hi, sexy! Remember me? The other said Suck my dick . I deleted both.
I was only interested in whatever Knotdead had to say. But as soon as the messages disappeared, I had a change of heart. If Brian Eddy was not the Blond Bomber, maybe one of these other yahoos, such as the “suck my dick” guy, was the killer instead.
Hmmm. Now, wait a minute , I told myself. You’re only supposed to be proving that Brian Eddy is not the killer. At no time are you to go nosing about looking for the real Blond Bomber. But, said my nosy side, if you can prove that someone else is the killer, that’s the same as proving Dr. Eddy is not the killer. Well, isn’t it?
Still, I really didn’t have the appetite to converse with people who wanted me to do intimate things with their virtual body parts. Did Lil play these games? Would she have had a snappy comeback to that message? Would she have put him in his place or encouraged more graphic sex talk? Or would Perfect4u have deleted the vulgar message as well? I wanted to believe that even online under an assumed identity, Lil practiced at least some of the same
About fifteen years ago, Greg inherited money from his grandfather. The funds allowed him to buy and remodel the home we live in and to start Ocean Breeze Graphics. Once his business was established, Greg had used some of the money to start a college scholarship program for his employees. Starting out as Greg’s delivery boy, Boomer had put himself through college with Greg’s assistance. Last year, he approached Greg with a business plan to expand Ocean Breeze outside of California, with him as Greg’s partner. Greg was so proud of Boomer and impressed with the plan, it didn’t take him long to say yes, especially since one of his largest clients was located in Colorado. Next month, we are all meeting in Denver to launch Mountain Breeze Graphics, with future plans for a Desert Breeze Graphics in Phoenix in another year or so. It was exciting times for all of us, and both Greg and I were so proud of Boomer.
But with Boomer gone from the mother ship, Greg had to spend more time at the shop. His new assistant was another long shot who showed promise under the right tutelage. Chris Fowler was a scrawny high-school dropout referred to Greg for part-time work a few years ago by a client. When hired, Greg insisted that part of working for him would include Chris obtaining his GED, which he did. Last September, with help from Ocean Breeze, he started community college. Though not as gifted as Boomer in the arts department, Chris was proving to be a steady hand with the mechanics of the business and a favorite with both the staff and customers, and, like Boomer, there wasn’t a machine in the shop he couldn’t fix or maintain.
Boredom with the chat room set in after only ten minutes. Picking up the novel I was currently reading, I buried my nose in it, only glancing from time to time at the ongoing chat. Seamus was curled on the small loveseat in the corner of the room, and Muffin was a ball of gray fur between the keyboard and the screen. Wainwright was with Greg.
After an hour, there was still no sign of Brian Eddy. I stood up and stretched and went to the kitchen to refresh my teacup. Muffin followed me out to the kitchen. She mewed softly and rubbed my ankles. I tossed her a couple of kitty treats while the tea kettle heated. She was so cute that a part of me hoped Lisa Luke would not want her back.
It was just after nine. Greg had said not to expect him home much before eleven. This chat-room surveillance was dull business, but at least I was getting my reading done, a pastime I loved.
When I returned to the computer a few minutes later, there was still no sign of Knotdead, but there were instant messages from two other folks. One said Hi, sexy! Remember me? The other said Suck my dick . I deleted both.
I was only interested in whatever Knotdead had to say. But as soon as the messages disappeared, I had a change of heart. If Brian Eddy was not the Blond Bomber, maybe one of these other yahoos, such as the “suck my dick” guy, was the killer instead.
Hmmm. Now, wait a minute , I told myself. You’re only supposed to be proving that Brian Eddy is not the killer. At no time are you to go nosing about looking for the real Blond Bomber. But, said my nosy side, if you can prove that someone else is the killer, that’s the same as proving Dr. Eddy is not the killer. Well, isn’t it?
Still, I really didn’t have the appetite to converse with people who wanted me to do intimate things with their virtual body parts. Did Lil play these games? Would she have had a snappy comeback to that message? Would she have put him in his place or encouraged more graphic sex talk? Or would Perfect4u have deleted the vulgar message as well? I wanted to believe that even online under an assumed identity, Lil practiced at least some of the same
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