“What are you doing here?” I nearly forgot to grab at my wheels to keep from sliding backwards down the ramp.
Having
the new owner show up before the office was officially open for business was
odd enough to be suspicious.
“Good
morning, Daniel. Did you have a nice Christmas? Yes, thanks, how was yours,
Lanie?” He gave me that crooked grin too similar to my brothers’ when they were
hiding something.
I echoed
him obediently, which got a chuckle from him, and wheeled into the building. I
paused and wobbled my chair from side to side (getting a wide-eyed look of
shock and admiration from Daniel) to knock the sludge off the wheels, onto the
entryway mat.
“So what
are you doing here? Hiding from something?” I had to ask.
“What
makes you say that?” he asked just a little too quickly.
Guilt.
Sure sign of it.
“You don’t have to be here. You don’t need to be here. Especially on a Friday, when there’s probably tons of work to do at your own office. Therefore, unusual circumstances.” I led the way up the ramp to the level where my desk sat. The Tattler office occupied all four units in a row of buildings, with the common walls knocked out years ago. I maneuvered as I always did through the detritus from yesterday’s delivery crises. No chance of seeing his face when I made my Sherlockian deductions. Which might have been a mercy stroke for him.
“Maybe I want to see how the newest member of the company is doing, as we get ready to step into a new year?” His usual confident, pleasant expression was back on his nicely square-cut face when I turned around. I had to wonder if I mistrusted him more because he was good-looking than because he took away my beloved sports beat and stuck me with the lovelorn advice column, Talk to Terry.
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