Absolutely, Positively

followed by full work days. I don't know how you do it.”

    “It's the music.” Tessa dropped the lipstick into a huge leather bag as she came around the counter. “It gives me energy. How much longer are you going to stay with T-Rex?”

    “I don't know.” Molly watched a gaggle of tourists climb the broad steps toward First Avenue. “To tell you the truth, I'm starting to worry a little about the situation. I feel as though I'm living in limbo.”

    “I'm starting to worry about your situation, too. I understand why you don't want to stay at your own place, but maybe you should move in with your aunt. I don't like this business of you living with Trevelyan. It's not you.”

    Molly glanced at her, astonished. “What the heck is this? You've been after me for months to get a love life.”

    “Is that what you've got? A love life?” Tessa's vividly outlined eyes held an old-fashioned expression that was disconcertingly at odds with her nose ring, neon hair, and clashing arm chains. “Or are we talking just a sex life here?”

    The question had a strange effect on Molly. She felt as though she had suddenly stepped out into space. Her insides fluttered wildly in the weightless environment. “I wish I knew.”

    “Damn. I was afraid of this.”

    “Tessa, it's after five. Begone.”

    “Look, if you want to talk—”

    “I don't. But thanks, anyway.”

    Tessa hesitated. “Sure. Whatever you say, boss. I'm here if you need me.”

    “I know. Thanks.”

    Tessa opened the front door. “Hey, I almost forgot.”

    “About what?”

    “A friend of mine in the band wants to talk to you. She's working on a really strange gadget. I told her about your foundation, and she got excited. She could use the money to help finance her project.”

    Molly was momentarily distracted from her own problems. “Your friend is an inventor?”

    “Yeah. Her name is Heloise Stickley. Plays bass guitar in the band. But her main interest is alternate levels of consciousness.”

    “How nice,” Molly said. “What are alternate levels of consciousness?”

    “Beats me. She's got some kind of theory about people who can sense things that the rest of us can't. You know, like colors that go beyond the normal spectrum. Stuff like that. She's working on a machine that detects special brain waves or something.”

    Molly winced. “Uh, maybe you'd better not encourage her to apply for funding to the Abberwick Foundation. Harry is a little biased against inventors who work in the field of paranormal studies. To be perfectly blunt, he thinks it's all garbage.”

    “You don't need T-Rex's permission for every single project, do you?”

    “Well, no. But I'm paying big bucks for his advice. It would be stupid not to follow it.”

    “Just talk to Heloise, okay? There's no harm in that, is there?”

    “No, of course not.” Molly smiled wryly. “You could sell ice in Alaska during the winter, Tessa. Tell Heloise that I'll be glad to talk to her.”

    “Great.” Tessa grinned as she went through the door. “See you tomorrow.”

    Molly waited until the door had closed again. Then she walked through the shop one last time, going through her evening ritual. She straightened canisters of tea. Checked the special orders file. Pulled the shades in the front windows.

    When all was in order, she let herself out the front door and secured it firmly. The steps in front of the shop were still cluttered with people, but the crowd was thinning rapidly. The fountains sparkled in the late afternoon sun.

    Molly walked up toward First Avenue, heading toward the nearest bus stop. Gordon Brooke stepped out of the front door of his coffee bar as she went past.

    “Molly.” He gave her an ingratiating smile. “On your way home?”

    “Yes.” She paused briefly. “Did you have a good day?”

    “Fair. Look, I wanted to apologize for my behavior in your office the other day. I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of Trevelyan.”

    “Forget it.”

    Gordon sighed. “I didn't handle that scene very well, but I am genuinely concerned. You seem to be getting serious about him.”

    “Don't worry about me, Gordon.”

    “That's just it, I do worry about you.” He shoved one hand into the pocket of his fashionable bronze-colored trousers. “If nothing else, we're old friends. I don't want to see you get in over your head with a guy like Trevelyan. He's not really your type.”

    “Amazing how everyone seems to have an opinion on