Angels Fall

she made no response. "But at least you know they found her."
    "I don't know if it was the same woman I saw."
    "Sure it was. Had to be."
    "Why?"
    "Just makes sense it was."" He trailed her over to the counter. "Everybody's saying so."
    "Everybody doesn't know jack, and I can't say the woman they found is the woman I saw just to make everyone happy."
    "Well, Jesus, Reece, that's not what I—"
    "Funny how it takes some kids finding a dead body to make people around here decide I wasn't making the whole thing up after all. Gee, maybe Reece isn't completely crazy, after all." With more care than usual, Mac boxed her purchases. "Nobody thinks you're crazy, Reece."
    "Sure they do. Once a nutcase, always a nutcase. That's how it goes."' She pulled out her wallet and noted with resignation that with the total on the cash register, she was going to be down to her last ten dollars and change. Again.
    "You shouldn't talk like that." Mac took her money, gave her back thirty-six cents. "It's insulting to yourself and the rest of us."
    "Maybe. It's insulting to walk down the street, or into a room, and have people point me out as that poor woman from back East, or look at me out of the sides of their eyes as if I might start gibbering any second. Try being on the receiving end of that for a while," she suggested as she hefted the box. "See if it doesn't start pissing you off. And you can tell your mother," she said to Lo, "that she owes me for twenty-eight hours."
    Reece started for the door. "Tell her I'll be in to pick up my check tomorrow."

    THE SOUND OF the front door slamming shot Brody out of a tense scene between his central character and the man she has no choice but to trust.
    He cursed, reached for his coffee only to discover he'd already finished the oversized mug of it. His first thought was to go down for a refill, but he heard further slamming—cupboard doors?—and decided he'd rather stay out of the war zone and do without the caffeine.
    He rubbed the stiffness out of the back of his neck, which he attributed to craning it in order to paint the bathroom celling. Then he closed his eyes, pushed himself back into the scene. At some point he thought he heard either the front or hack door open, but he was in the zone and continued to write until it closed on him.

    Satisfied, he pushed away from his keyboard. He and Maddy had taken a hell of a ride that day, and while she still had a ways to go, right now he deserved a cold beer and a hot shower. Hut the beer came first. As he headed down to get one, he rubbed a hand over his face and heard the rasp. Should probably shave, he thought idly. Letting that little bit of business go two or three days running was fine and good for a man on his own. When a woman came into the equation, it was time for regular sessions with the damn razor.
    He'd shave in the shower.
    Better, he'd talk Reece into the shower with him. Shave, shower, sex—then a cold beer and a hot meal. It was, he decided, a most excellent plan.
    The fact that nothing was simmering on the stove was a bit of a shock. He'd gotten used to strolling into the kitchen and finding something cooking. It was another shock to realize it irritated him. Nothing cooking, no colorful arrangement of plates and candles on the table, and the back door wide open. He forgot about shaving and stepped over to the door.
    Reece was sitting on the squat back porch with a bottle of wine. From the level in the bottle, he deduced she'd been sitting there for some time.
    He stepped out, sat down beside her. "Having a party?"'
    "Sure." She lifted her glass. "Big party. You can buy yourself a very decent bottle of wine around here, but you just try to get a goddamn sprig of fresh dill or some lousy hazelnuts."
    "I complained to the mavor about that just last week."
    "You wouldn't know fresh dill if I shoved it up your nose." She-gulped wine, gestured sloppily toward him with the glass. "And you're from Chicago. You oughta have some standards."
    "I'm so ashamed." And she was so drunk.
    "I was gonna make chicken Frangelico, but hazelnuts are not to be had. So I figured I'd do polio arrosto. Tomatoes are crap, and the idea of finding Parmesan that's not dried powder in a can is a laugh."
    "That's a tragedy."
    "It  matters  ."
    "Apparently. Come on. Slim, you're toasted. Let's go on up so you can sleep it off."
    "I'm not finished being toasted."
    "Your choice, your hangover." He considered it a kindness to pick up the bottle, take a slug