of hot tea, then turned and smiled at Joe.
Any luck? he asked.
Flynn shook his head.
Joe groaned. Youre starting to make me think Im gonna have to do it for you, pal.
Flynn laughed, straightened his tie. The day I need you to do it for me is the day I will bloody well kill myself, thank you.
Joe laughed, clapped him cheerfully on the back. If it comes to that, you have my word well ship you home in one pieceat least no more than two. Scouts honor, dude.
Chapter Ten
RACHEL was beginning to get a little depressed.
It wasnt her temporary job, which, incidentally, was not typing medical transcripts as she had been led to believe, but in fact, a backlog of autopsy reports (DOB 8-16-39. Subject a fully developed Black adult male. Legs unremarkable. Arms unremarkable. Torso unremarkable) .
It was enough to depress anyone, and while reading about peoples unremarkable body parts was not exactly ego-boosting, it wasnt that which had Rachel down. And it wasnt her weight-loss program, either, which, if anyone was interested, wasnt working for shit, regardless of her trips to the gym and general state of poverty. All right, it had only been a couple of weeks or so. But still .
Nor was it the fact that she had just received her utility bill, which was now officially forty-five days delinquent. That came to $175 plus fines and penalties.
It was that Flynn had disappeared. As in, off the face of the earth. As in, one day, she was seeing him all over the place and the next day it was like he never existed. Which, Rachel thought, was not exactly out of the realm of possibility. In spite of Dagnes assurances to the contrary, she was nearing the end of her one-week experiment in really believing , and no Flynn.
It was more likely, given her thirty-one years of experience thus far, that Flynn, just like shed feared, really had been horrified, and worse, he really did think Myron was her boyfriend. Okay, all right, so Myron had been her boyfriend once, but he wasnt her boyfriend now , and seeing him through Flynns eyes, well she thought she might as well crack open the cookie dough and mainline it, because Flynn wasnt coming back.
Except that, thanks to her new status as pauper, she didnt have any cookie dough.
She checked her horoscope in the paper instead. Some ideas seem new and interesting but are better left unexplored .
Great. That made her feel so much better about the witchcraft thing. Not .
With a sigh of resignation, Rachel tossed the horoscope aside and went to dress for her weaving class.
She donned a black, ankle-length skirt and a tight-fitting, low-cut gray sweater that made her look thin, she thought, bound her hair up in a massive knot at her nape, put on the amethyst earrings she had picked up on the Isle of Skye during a research trip that had quickly gone nowhere, and her brand-new Donald J. Pilner embroidered boots.
Okay, so shed charged brand-new, extremely expensive boots at a point she was desperate for money. But she had the autopsy job, and if push came to shove, she could borrow the money from Robin or Rebecca. At least, she hoped she could. But she really needed those boots to make her feel better.
Then she draped the lavender shawl she had made Saturday around her shoulders. At least her dabble in witchcraft wasnt a complete lossshe had a beautiful shawl to show for it. But she wasnt giving up. Not yet, anyway. And in an act of semi-desperation, she dabbed a little Mexican vanilla behind one ear. Really stupid, but it wasnt like anyone was going to be sniffing around and asking if her perfume came in a bottle with the Pillsbury Doughboy on the label. Besides, she found the smell of vanilla to be very calming.
When she arrived at class with the box of yarns she would discuss, most of her students were already gathered. Sandy was regaling a very shocked-looking Mr. Gregory with her latest bout of diverticulitis, Chantal and Tiffinnae were arguing about the progress Tiffinnae had made on their weaving
Any luck? he asked.
Flynn shook his head.
Joe groaned. Youre starting to make me think Im gonna have to do it for you, pal.
Flynn laughed, straightened his tie. The day I need you to do it for me is the day I will bloody well kill myself, thank you.
Joe laughed, clapped him cheerfully on the back. If it comes to that, you have my word well ship you home in one pieceat least no more than two. Scouts honor, dude.
Chapter Ten
RACHEL was beginning to get a little depressed.
It wasnt her temporary job, which, incidentally, was not typing medical transcripts as she had been led to believe, but in fact, a backlog of autopsy reports (DOB 8-16-39. Subject a fully developed Black adult male. Legs unremarkable. Arms unremarkable. Torso unremarkable) .
It was enough to depress anyone, and while reading about peoples unremarkable body parts was not exactly ego-boosting, it wasnt that which had Rachel down. And it wasnt her weight-loss program, either, which, if anyone was interested, wasnt working for shit, regardless of her trips to the gym and general state of poverty. All right, it had only been a couple of weeks or so. But still .
Nor was it the fact that she had just received her utility bill, which was now officially forty-five days delinquent. That came to $175 plus fines and penalties.
It was that Flynn had disappeared. As in, off the face of the earth. As in, one day, she was seeing him all over the place and the next day it was like he never existed. Which, Rachel thought, was not exactly out of the realm of possibility. In spite of Dagnes assurances to the contrary, she was nearing the end of her one-week experiment in really believing , and no Flynn.
It was more likely, given her thirty-one years of experience thus far, that Flynn, just like shed feared, really had been horrified, and worse, he really did think Myron was her boyfriend. Okay, all right, so Myron had been her boyfriend once, but he wasnt her boyfriend now , and seeing him through Flynns eyes, well she thought she might as well crack open the cookie dough and mainline it, because Flynn wasnt coming back.
Except that, thanks to her new status as pauper, she didnt have any cookie dough.
She checked her horoscope in the paper instead. Some ideas seem new and interesting but are better left unexplored .
Great. That made her feel so much better about the witchcraft thing. Not .
With a sigh of resignation, Rachel tossed the horoscope aside and went to dress for her weaving class.
She donned a black, ankle-length skirt and a tight-fitting, low-cut gray sweater that made her look thin, she thought, bound her hair up in a massive knot at her nape, put on the amethyst earrings she had picked up on the Isle of Skye during a research trip that had quickly gone nowhere, and her brand-new Donald J. Pilner embroidered boots.
Okay, so shed charged brand-new, extremely expensive boots at a point she was desperate for money. But she had the autopsy job, and if push came to shove, she could borrow the money from Robin or Rebecca. At least, she hoped she could. But she really needed those boots to make her feel better.
Then she draped the lavender shawl she had made Saturday around her shoulders. At least her dabble in witchcraft wasnt a complete lossshe had a beautiful shawl to show for it. But she wasnt giving up. Not yet, anyway. And in an act of semi-desperation, she dabbed a little Mexican vanilla behind one ear. Really stupid, but it wasnt like anyone was going to be sniffing around and asking if her perfume came in a bottle with the Pillsbury Doughboy on the label. Besides, she found the smell of vanilla to be very calming.
When she arrived at class with the box of yarns she would discuss, most of her students were already gathered. Sandy was regaling a very shocked-looking Mr. Gregory with her latest bout of diverticulitis, Chantal and Tiffinnae were arguing about the progress Tiffinnae had made on their weaving
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