18
“Reason? I don’t think so.” My mind limped this way and that, looking for an out. “I was just surprised. I thought you checked everything before you brought it out. If you don’t think this typewriter was properly fixed, then by all means check it.”
I felt I’d lobbed his serve quite neatly back into his own court and allowed myself a small smile.
“I did check it before I brought it out, Mr. Kenyon,” Mimsie plaintively asserted.
Which probably meant I’d just bought a pig in a poke.
Flynn smiled. “Then I’m sure everything is in order.”
I grabbed the typewriter and staggered out the door. After slinging it into the passenger seat, I scrambled behind the wheel and squealed away from the curb. At the first light I dug at the latch of the little door. It fell open and a sheaf of papers f
