By the time I got to Annapolis my hair was dry, but my wool jacket smelled like wet dog. It would need a couple of trips to the dry cleaner before it could be restored to anything resembling its former glory. A quick look in the hall mirror only confirmed what I suspected: I not only smelled like wet dog, I looked like a chew toy the dog had been gnawing on for a while. Paul was in the basement office, grading papers. By the time he’d laid down his red pencil and come upstairs to the kitchen to join me in a glass of wine, I’d brushed the tangles out of my hair and fluffed it up at bit so I didn’t feel like such a freak. ‘What did you get up to today?’ I asked as I handed him a glass of Chablis. ‘Oh, nothing.’ The man was positively twinkling. ‘Liar!’ ‘A guy showed up today, asking for you.’ ‘Oh?’ I grabbed a pretzel out of a bag I’d left open on the table and took a bite. ‘He said he understood you had found a package on the Metro that belonged to him.’ I stopped in mid-nibble.
