Chapter Eight
Martin gave me the courtesy of not mentioning the conversation.
Either that or he’d heard enough.
Still, I caught him studying me as I stood at the counter, pretending to organize sugar packets. Fortunately, his perusal was cut short when his cell’s ringtone broke the silence, causing me to jump.
Wait! Was that Jefferson Starship’s “We Built This City”?
Huh, I’d figured him for a Dark Side of the Moon kind of guy.
As the sugar packets were sufficiently faced, I moved on to scrubbing the counters, purposely trying to look like I wasn’t listening in. Then again, Martin’s side of the conversation comprised nothing more than a few “Uh hums” and “Okays.” Not really interesting or that useful.
I had just started searching for errant crumbs—a task that’s harder than it sounds
