In an oak-paneled conference room at First Freedom Fiduciary, I scowled from across the oblong table at slick-haired CEO Maurice Meltonshire, whom I blamed for Joe’s death, and a cadre of lackeys and attorneys.
Joe’s attorney, Allison Raymond, clicked a remote, and the video projection screen flickered on with the image of my late
“You’re making enough noise to wake the dead,” Dad said from over my shoulder as I upended every bit of stainless-steel-ware in the kitchen drawer, trying to find my giant soup spoon.
“Well, you’d know,” I quipped, “considering you’ve been dead three years.” Then I turned to ask, “What brings you back this time?”
Andrea bit her lip, watching the dangerous groundhog sit on its hind legs, sniff the air, and exhale a wisp of smoke. Then it resumed eating grass.
Whenever Andrea needed repairs or a project done, she called Joe Enza before anyone else. He was dependable and always ready to help. That’s why she liked
Chasing Joe Enza was like trying to catch smoke. Just when I thought I had him, he’d slip through my fingers, leaping into another timeline—another reality. It was maddening.
But this time, he was still in sight—at least for now.
I tucked a long strand of my auburn hair behind my ear
My stomach churned when I saw the cabbie that’d driven me to last night’s ball. The paunchy man hadn’t noticed me yet as he took off his cap, revealing the horrid bald spot that his dark, shoulder-length hair surrounded. I took a deep breath.
A bird landed on a mailbox nearby and squawked rather
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