Norm had a legal pad and the document that had ruined my previous evening laid out on the table next to his huevos rancheros and was switching back and forth between his fork and his pen. I wondered how long it would be before he stuck the nib of his eight-hundred dollar Montegrappa into his eggs. That would be tragic. Norm loved that pen. “Where?” We had been talking about Thanksgiving plans, so the question caught me off guard. “Rasmussen’s place. You sure you don’t want to eat?” The whole lawsuit thing had made me queasy, and I shook my head. “Not that I noticed. It was dark. I’d be surprised if there was, though, in that neighborhood.” “Did Mrs. Rasmussen ask you to leave?” “No. In fact, she wanted to help us with the kittens.” I told him how Rasmussen the husband had reacted to that. Norm made a note and took a bite, all with the proper implements.
