February 4
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Reynolds says, grinning. Oh crap. Did I just help him more than I meant to? Or is he trying to make me think I’ve screwed up? Just how badly can I overanalyze this? “Okay, last question, and then we get to the promise. Fair enough?”
“Sounds good,” I reply. Definitely can’t give him a straight answer on this one.
“I think you saw Mrs. Sanders talking to a gentleman in the Beanery this morning,” he says. “Have you ever seen that man before today?”
The generic guy. Well, generic is generic. I could have seen him a thousand times over and he’d never have registered. And yet, he was familiar. Like he’d been in there every day, and I just didn’t notice him over the generic genericness of his generic clothes. God, that’s the only thing I can think of, the genericness. It’s not even a standing-out generic, but I suppose that would defeat the purpose of being generic. Two answers, both true, neither one I want to give. I shrug. “He didn’t make an impression, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Reynolds’ smile creeps further across his face, until I think he resembles nothing more than a Pez dispenser in a bad coat. Something I said made his day, and I think that I am going to need a very long cold shower after this is done. “Excellent,” he says. “Very, very good. All right. I have something to ask of you.”
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