As I head for the door, I glance at the mannequin in the corner. I resolve to ask the Chief about returning the mannequin to the post of sentinel next to the memorial coffee-pot. When I walk down the hall, I realise that the ceiling lights are off in the office. Happy Hour at the Cafe. I straighten my shoulders.
Someone has to finish the research.
I sit down at my desk and turn on the lamp. I will never forget the puckering in my mouth and the great shiver that ran down my spine when one morning at breakfast I popped a small boor-geresy into my mouth. I have been contemplating using a scarf printed with the design of mangoes as a primary clue in a murder mystery. London flat where he prepares a gooseberry martini. Bombay sapphire splashes from a cruet, lately retrieved from the freezer, and into the expectant V of the martini glass.