Below, three towtrucks, lights flashing, congregated outside the studio. One hooked Curt’s car and hoisted it in the air. Water streamed from the interior. Modern electronic systems react badly to water—the repairs would be costly or impossible. The car and truck disappeared down the lane. The second truck backed into place, ready to remove her vehicle. Impossible to meditate. Her room reeked. The smoky smell drifted in from outside and rose from the clothes she’d worn the night before. Hollis threw on clean jeans and a T -shirt, bundled the stinking clothes and carried them downstairs. Curt and Manon sat at the kitchen the table. Curt nodded at her. Manon, flipping through the yellow pages, looked up. “I’m ordering rental cars—do you want one?” A businesslike, efficient woman had replaced the desperately worried anxious person she’d been since Ivan’s death. Manon must have read the amazement on Hollis’s face.
