February 1
“Not quite,” I say. “It’s not like she’s my aunt or anything. I just go to her coffee shop every so often.”
“The thing about a repeat customer,” Reynolds says, “is that after a while the customer becomes accustomed to becoming a custom. Or something like that.”
“Clever. Your point, please?” Still no sweat, not even one drop. Come on, is he wearing ice cubes under there or what?
“Katie, as you say, is a friend of yours, though you may keep that relationship at arm’s length,” he continues. “Still, you are a perceptive young woman, and that’s a talent that many people in your position would kill to have. I just need to know a couple of things about Katie.”
“And can I ask why you need to know these things?”
“That, I’m afraid, is privileged information between myself and my client,” he says, frowning again.
“Who is your client?”
“Privileged.”
“Why is the sky blue?”
“Because God is a Penn State fan,” Reynolds grins. “Sorry. I went there, you know.”
“You’re forgiven, this time,” I growl. “Fine. Ask me what you want and I’ll see what I can do to help.” Anything, just either take that damn coat off or get the hell out of my house.
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