convinced. I took a deep breath. I’d never gotten in the last word yet but like an old-timer married fifty years I’m an eternal optimist. It could happen. There might come a day. It might be today.
Actually, it’ll probably come when I’m on my deathbed and the Reaper snatches me before Old Bones can come back at me. Except that Chuckles might decide to come after me. He’s already got a head start.
Death. Now there’s a guy who knows how to have the last word.
Mr. Big is following the creature I sensed in the alley, Garrett. Not any sad little manhunter named Gonlit. I had thought you would understand that. A most unusual creature this is, too. Nothing like it has entered my ken before. Most notably, it seems capable of rendering itself invisible by fogging the minds of those around it. It is amazing.
“And you keep telling me there’s nothing new under the sun.”
Playmate’s scrawny young buddy finally collected himself enough to notice us. “What happened to you guys? You smell awful.”
My good and true friend Playmate announced, “What you smell is Garrett. I myself am redolent of roses, lilacs, and other sweet herbal delights.”
I glared at Playmate. “We ran into Bic Gonlit.” I turned my glower on the boy. He did not leap at the opportunity to have a chuckle at my expense. Maybe he wasn’t a total social disaster at all times. Maybe he retained some rudimentary, skewed sense of self-preservation.
That’s Mama Garrett’s big boy. He can find a silver lining inside the ugliest sow’s ear. Maybe he didn’t have any sense of humor at all. Kip looked to Playmate for confirmation. Playmate told him, “It was Gonlit.” Then he told me, “Do something about your sweet self. I have a strong feeling we’re about to get out amongst the people. I wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself.”
Yet again the stardust of amusement twinkled in the air. I would propose that Mr. Playmate has offered excellent advice, Garrett.
I smelled doom. I smelled it like I’d smelled leaf mold in the jungle every time it’d rained while I was in the islands. It was in the air, sneezing thick. I did not have to sniff to catch a whiff.
I was about to be cursed. Squirm as I might I was about to have to go to work. All because I had been dim enough to open my door and let trouble walk in.
I whined, “Where on the gods’ green earth is the beautiful girl?” It’d never failed before. I’d always gotten some wonderful eye-candy out of... “Yike!”
Old Dean, who pretends to be the chief cook and housekeeper around here, but who is really the wicked stepmother, had stuck his bitter, persimmon-sucking face into the office. “Mr. Garrett? Why is it that I return home to find the front door standing wide open?”
“It was an experiment. I was trying to learn if crabby old people will kick a door shut before they start complaining about it having been left open. Of particular interest are crabby old men who live in a household where their status more closely approximates that of a guest than something more eternal. So you tell me. Do you have any idea? Where’s the girl?”
Dean doesn’t have much of a sense of humor. He offered me the full benefit of his hard, gray-eyed stare. As always, he was rock-confident he could demonstrate to the world that my second greatest flaw is my frivolous, incautious nature.
He believes my greatest failing to be my persistent bachelorhood. That from a character who never got within rock-flinging range of matrimony himself. I put up with him because he is a wonderful cook and housekeeper. When the mood takes him. And because he’s cranky enough to hold his own with the Dead Man — though when he has his druthers he has nothing to do with Old Bones at all.
“Let’s not fuss,” I told him. “I have a client here.”
Bad word choice. That brightened Dean right up. Little pleases him more than knowing that I’m working.
I ground my teeth a bit, then continued, “So
Actually, it’ll probably come when I’m on my deathbed and the Reaper snatches me before Old Bones can come back at me. Except that Chuckles might decide to come after me. He’s already got a head start.
Death. Now there’s a guy who knows how to have the last word.
Mr. Big is following the creature I sensed in the alley, Garrett. Not any sad little manhunter named Gonlit. I had thought you would understand that. A most unusual creature this is, too. Nothing like it has entered my ken before. Most notably, it seems capable of rendering itself invisible by fogging the minds of those around it. It is amazing.
“And you keep telling me there’s nothing new under the sun.”
Playmate’s scrawny young buddy finally collected himself enough to notice us. “What happened to you guys? You smell awful.”
My good and true friend Playmate announced, “What you smell is Garrett. I myself am redolent of roses, lilacs, and other sweet herbal delights.”
I glared at Playmate. “We ran into Bic Gonlit.” I turned my glower on the boy. He did not leap at the opportunity to have a chuckle at my expense. Maybe he wasn’t a total social disaster at all times. Maybe he retained some rudimentary, skewed sense of self-preservation.
That’s Mama Garrett’s big boy. He can find a silver lining inside the ugliest sow’s ear. Maybe he didn’t have any sense of humor at all. Kip looked to Playmate for confirmation. Playmate told him, “It was Gonlit.” Then he told me, “Do something about your sweet self. I have a strong feeling we’re about to get out amongst the people. I wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself.”
Yet again the stardust of amusement twinkled in the air. I would propose that Mr. Playmate has offered excellent advice, Garrett.
I smelled doom. I smelled it like I’d smelled leaf mold in the jungle every time it’d rained while I was in the islands. It was in the air, sneezing thick. I did not have to sniff to catch a whiff.
I was about to be cursed. Squirm as I might I was about to have to go to work. All because I had been dim enough to open my door and let trouble walk in.
I whined, “Where on the gods’ green earth is the beautiful girl?” It’d never failed before. I’d always gotten some wonderful eye-candy out of... “Yike!”
Old Dean, who pretends to be the chief cook and housekeeper around here, but who is really the wicked stepmother, had stuck his bitter, persimmon-sucking face into the office. “Mr. Garrett? Why is it that I return home to find the front door standing wide open?”
“It was an experiment. I was trying to learn if crabby old people will kick a door shut before they start complaining about it having been left open. Of particular interest are crabby old men who live in a household where their status more closely approximates that of a guest than something more eternal. So you tell me. Do you have any idea? Where’s the girl?”
Dean doesn’t have much of a sense of humor. He offered me the full benefit of his hard, gray-eyed stare. As always, he was rock-confident he could demonstrate to the world that my second greatest flaw is my frivolous, incautious nature.
He believes my greatest failing to be my persistent bachelorhood. That from a character who never got within rock-flinging range of matrimony himself. I put up with him because he is a wonderful cook and housekeeper. When the mood takes him. And because he’s cranky enough to hold his own with the Dead Man — though when he has his druthers he has nothing to do with Old Bones at all.
“Let’s not fuss,” I told him. “I have a client here.”
Bad word choice. That brightened Dean right up. Little pleases him more than knowing that I’m working.
I ground my teeth a bit, then continued, “So
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