Elsie didn’t know what to expect when she entered the exam room where Keith Simmons and Alex Travers waited for her. If she had to put it into words, she would’ve said two young men, probably Maria’s age, with rail-thin bodies, waves of perfect hair, and brooding good looks. The kind of gay college boys she saw strolling along Cary Street when she came into work in the early evenings, with their skinny jeans and tight T-shirts and devil may care attitudes.
But the men in the exam room didn’t fit that description at all.
Both stood when Elsie entered the room. They were older, their college days long behind them; Elsie guessed they were closer to her age, maybe a year or two older, putting them easily into their late thirties. One had close-cropped, sandy blond hair beginning to turn gray
