beautiful day had dawned while I'd been sleeping, visible in strips past the wooden slats of the blinds. Snow still blanketed lawns and vehicles in heaps, and the streets remained a network of pale blue swamps, but the smiling sun overhead made everything seem pleasant. There was no warmth, but the light was reminiscent of spring.
Jill was back a moment later, and this time she'd brought with her a pair of Advil capsules. "Don't take those with coffee," she cautioned as she came around the desk and pressed them into my palm.
"Surely you jest," I returned, promptly popping the pills into my mouth and raising the mug to my lips.
She sighed wearily as I followed her back around the desk into the center of the room. "Did you give your mother this much trouble growing up?"
I scooped up my notebook from the coffee table and dropped back down onto the sofa, smiling innocently. "Oh, tons more. I've matured with age."
She passed through the doorway and out of sight, laughing, and I settled back into the niche my body had created in the cushions.
Okay , I thought, rifling through the pages of untidy scribbles to refresh my memory. The agenda.
First, I had to head back over to the most recent crime scene to see what clues I could unearth there. Following in the CSI squad's wake yet again meant that I most likely wouldn't find anything, but it was still necessary for procedure. And in the rare event that they had missed something valuable, I'd get to redeem myself for my outburst the previous evening and maybe even get to be a hero for a change.
Second, I planned on visiting the city morgue to check up on the late Mrs. Daniels. Even though I'd received no word yet, there was a good chance that the coroners had found something useful – information that could potentially further the investigation. It couldn't hurt to drop by and see things firsthand for myself. Besides, patience has never been one of my defining virtues.
The sigh escaped me before I could corral it. I dropped the notebook onto the coffee table, rubbing my eyes with a thumb and forefinger. An hour of sleep wasn't going to carry me through the day, but that certainly wouldn't be a legitimate excuse in the eyes of one Kevin Slyder.
I finished my coffee within the next few minutes, so I shuffled down the hallway to Jill's office to make more. She was busy tapping away on her typewriter when I entered, so I started the coffee–making process myself. She must have heard me fumbling at the cabinet behind her, however, because she abandoned whatever it was that she was typing and got to her feet.
"I can do it, Chance," she volunteered, coming to stand beside me.
"I'm not helpless, dammit," I said, but without any fervor. The yawn that escaped my lips rendered me incapable of further protest, and I surrendered the can of Folgers without bloodshed. "You know I'm not gonna argue."
"I have to make enough work to last the day anyway." Smiling thinly, she set to work on the java and I slouched against the wall. "Making coffee was in your job description, remember?"
I was skeptical, but amused, and I arched an eyebrow when she glanced my way to prove it.
"I think that was something that caught my eye, actually – that you had a good sense of humor." She was already scooping grounds into the pot with an experienced hand. "I mean, now I know you were probably being completely serious, but at the time I thought it was a joke. You really don't you remember, do you?"
I felt like laughing but failed to muster anything more than a chuckle. "Well, it was two years ago."
She rolled her head back and forth in gentle disbelief. "Doesn't seem like it's been that long, does it? Time flies."
"You tell me – I'm not the one that has to put up with me." I actually hadn't intended it as a joke, but I suppose my tone of voice made it into one.
"I don't have to 'put up' with you," she assured me immediately
Jill was back a moment later, and this time she'd brought with her a pair of Advil capsules. "Don't take those with coffee," she cautioned as she came around the desk and pressed them into my palm.
"Surely you jest," I returned, promptly popping the pills into my mouth and raising the mug to my lips.
She sighed wearily as I followed her back around the desk into the center of the room. "Did you give your mother this much trouble growing up?"
I scooped up my notebook from the coffee table and dropped back down onto the sofa, smiling innocently. "Oh, tons more. I've matured with age."
She passed through the doorway and out of sight, laughing, and I settled back into the niche my body had created in the cushions.
Okay , I thought, rifling through the pages of untidy scribbles to refresh my memory. The agenda.
First, I had to head back over to the most recent crime scene to see what clues I could unearth there. Following in the CSI squad's wake yet again meant that I most likely wouldn't find anything, but it was still necessary for procedure. And in the rare event that they had missed something valuable, I'd get to redeem myself for my outburst the previous evening and maybe even get to be a hero for a change.
Second, I planned on visiting the city morgue to check up on the late Mrs. Daniels. Even though I'd received no word yet, there was a good chance that the coroners had found something useful – information that could potentially further the investigation. It couldn't hurt to drop by and see things firsthand for myself. Besides, patience has never been one of my defining virtues.
The sigh escaped me before I could corral it. I dropped the notebook onto the coffee table, rubbing my eyes with a thumb and forefinger. An hour of sleep wasn't going to carry me through the day, but that certainly wouldn't be a legitimate excuse in the eyes of one Kevin Slyder.
I finished my coffee within the next few minutes, so I shuffled down the hallway to Jill's office to make more. She was busy tapping away on her typewriter when I entered, so I started the coffee–making process myself. She must have heard me fumbling at the cabinet behind her, however, because she abandoned whatever it was that she was typing and got to her feet.
"I can do it, Chance," she volunteered, coming to stand beside me.
"I'm not helpless, dammit," I said, but without any fervor. The yawn that escaped my lips rendered me incapable of further protest, and I surrendered the can of Folgers without bloodshed. "You know I'm not gonna argue."
"I have to make enough work to last the day anyway." Smiling thinly, she set to work on the java and I slouched against the wall. "Making coffee was in your job description, remember?"
I was skeptical, but amused, and I arched an eyebrow when she glanced my way to prove it.
"I think that was something that caught my eye, actually – that you had a good sense of humor." She was already scooping grounds into the pot with an experienced hand. "I mean, now I know you were probably being completely serious, but at the time I thought it was a joke. You really don't you remember, do you?"
I felt like laughing but failed to muster anything more than a chuckle. "Well, it was two years ago."
She rolled her head back and forth in gentle disbelief. "Doesn't seem like it's been that long, does it? Time flies."
"You tell me – I'm not the one that has to put up with me." I actually hadn't intended it as a joke, but I suppose my tone of voice made it into one.
"I don't have to 'put up' with you," she assured me immediately
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