—James Russell Lowell Mallory was gripped with anxiety as she drove to her meeting with Phil’s ex-wife, Patrice. She clutched the steering wheel tightly, her sweaty palms causing her hands to slip every time she made a turn. Even the fact that their rendezvous was taking place at a McDonald’s that was billed as the world’s largest didn’t help. She supposed it might turn out to be one more place she could write about. But that was little consolation, given the fact that she was scheduled to leave Florida tomorrow, even though she didn’t expect Detective Martinez to give her the go-ahead. As she veered off International Drive onto Sand Lake Road, there was no mistaking which building was the one she was looking for. It had to be the one with an entire wall splashed with gigantic French fries at least three or four stories high. She was worried that merely looking at the garish mural was enough to send her cholesterol level skyrocketing. As soon as she pulled open the restaurant’s glass door, Mallory’s ears were assaulted with nerve-twitching bleeps, clanks, chinka-chinkas, and other electronic noises, all of which aggravated her jumpiness.
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