A small man materialized from the store’s dim interior, pulling a ball cap over his rapidly receding hairline as he hurried toward her. The logo on the hat matched one on the red-and-black vest he wore. The loose-fitting top didn’t conceal the fact the he had barely enough flesh to cover his bones.
“Sam Morgan,” he said when he reached her.
She stood, introduced herself and extended her hand.
Sam shook it vigorously. A couple of inches taller than her five-feet-four, she doubted he outweighed her and she mentally labeled him scrawny. He was only three years older but the hat couldn’t hide the advanced male pattern baldness that had taken over his head. They both settled onto chairs, and he pulled out his smokes and got one going.
This was her third attempt to develop a detailed account
