When I stumbled down to the kitchen, Jay was up, dressed, and on the phone. He had made coffee. I poured a cup and sat in the nook, sipping and staring vaguely in the direction of the Cramers' mobile home. The sky was overcast, but it was not raining. The wind had died. Jay was talking to Dale, that much I registered without taking in specific content, and the conversation had been going on for a while. My coffee had cooled enough for me to work up to a real swallow before Jay hung up. "Think you'll recover?" He retrieved his academic-tweed jacket from the back of his chair, shrugged into it, and smiled at me. I gave a dignified nod. I had drunk one and a half glasses of wine and taken two sips of liqueur the previous evening, but I felt hung over. "Any news?" He hesitated. "About the murder? Nothing definite yet. They'll be getting more of the technical data in, now that the holiday's over." Technical data. I digested that.
