Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
“You did have that attempt on your life two months ago. Maybe you should take this seriously.” My poor assistant sounds at his wit’s end.
“Go on, then, and read me from the dossier I know you’ve compiled on her and every relative of hers as well as all her acquaintances back to nursery school.” I have to put his mind at ease or he won’t be very accepting when I eventually bring her into the office. It’s not as if she can keep doing surveillance. She’s terrible at it. I noticed her the first day she set up shop outside the office. You can’t not notice her. She’s loud, from her red-blond curls to her voluptuous body. I sincerely hope I am her first job, otherwise she has a sad string of failures in her past.
“Luna Mae Higginson has one older sister, no brothers. The sister’s name is Mary Jane Higginson, more popularly known as the Mad Chef.”
“The Mad Chef?” I repeat, not sure if I heard Grant correctly since my attention is riveted on Luna. What a perfect name for the beauty. I repeat it silently, letting the syllables roll around my tongue like a fine whiskey.
“Yeah, she has an Instagram feed and is famous for chopping things. She’s got mad knife skills. It’s kind of scary, actually.”
Even though I can’t see Grant, I know he’s shuddering. He finds women frightening in general. A woman with good knife skills probably requires sedation. I urge him on to a different topic. “What about Luna’s parents?”
“Not in the picture since Luna was ten. Her sister moved out at the age of eighteen and took little Luna with her. There are no other relatives they keep in contact with. They’ve lived together over on Oak and Fourteenth Street for the last two years in a house that Mary Jane bought after she got her first endorsement deal with some—” I hear a gulp.
“Knife company?” I guess.
“Yeah. That. Anyway,” he hurries on, “Luna’s had a lot of jobs but none of them have stuck. She’s done everything from deliver pizzas—where she was fired because she got lost even though the cars have GPS in them—to a singing telegram service where she was fired because she couldn’t sing or juggle.”
“Juggle?”
“I guess she wrote on her application that her skill was juggling but she was bad enough at it that one of the balls hit her between the eyes at a children’s party. She bled like a decapitated turkey at Thanksgiving and had to be taken to the emergency room. I guess the parents weren’t happy.”
My lips twitch. Luna has brought some bread out from her purse and is breaking it into little pieces for the birds. More flock to her as if the birds are sending out silent messages that dinner is being served.
“And her most recent position is this surveillance one?”
“Yes. Although I couldn’t find out who hired her.”
“Keep working on that. It’s the only important component.” The bird situation is getting out of hand. I start toward Luna.
“What do you plan to do?”
“I hope she catches me, ties me up and does terrible things to my body.”
Grant starts choking.
“Was that too much information?”
“Yes.”
“File a report with Human Resources,” I suggest. The birds are about to stage a coup and overthrow one tiny woman.
“I’m giving you the finger right now.”
“As you should, Grant. As you should. I have to hang up now because my darling girl is about to get eaten by a flock of pigeons. She started feeding them, ran out of bread and is now surrounded.”
I walk straight into the marauding birds, grab Luna’s hand and drag her down the street until she’s free from the feathered terrors.
“Pigeons are the insects of the bird world,” I tell her, brushing her hair back from her flushed face. “Never feed them or they will try to eat you alive when you run out of food.”
“I’ve never had that happen to me before,” she says, her voice a bit shaky. “And I’ve fed pigeons before.”
“These downtown birds have been bred to be evil.” I tuck my arm around her and lead her into the nearest restaurant, which happens to be a steak place closing for midday so that they can get ready for dinner service, but the maître d’ recognizes me and shoos away the waiters trying to close the door in my face.
“Mr. Castile, it’s such an honor to have you at our establishment. I’m sorry to say that our grills have been turned off so that they can be cleaned before dinner.”
“That’s fine. We’ll take some bread, whatever cold desserts you have and a hot chocolate for the lady and a whiskey for me. Something light from the ‘80s.”
“Of course. If you’ll come right this way.” He leads us to a private dining room and closes us inside.