She’d asked about Cubby. How long had he known him? And then that peculiar remark about cream in his coffee. He arrived home, parked his car in the alley and took the stairs up to his apartment. “Got to do something,” he muttered as he headed for the kitchen, struggling out of his jacket. Five minutes later, a mug of instant coffee in hand, he walked back into the living room, sat down at his desk and reached for a yellow pad and pencil. “What the hell was she onto? And what in hell have I done with my cigarettes?” Back in the kitchen, he searched his jacket pockets until he found a crumpled pack of Camels, lit one and inhaled deeply before returning to his desk. “Now I can write.” Blue Plate Café, he wrote, then reached for his telephone directory. “I should have listened when she was telling me about the place. Just didn’t think it important . . . Ah, here we are. North Vancouver. Why all the way over there, I wonder?” Violet’s. “But I warned her not to go back there alone.”
What do You think about Death In A Family Way (2008)?
