“Looks
like you cleaned up this joint,” he said as we passed through the great room.
“It’s about time,” I said.
We
walked into the kitchen and he sat in his usual spot at the table by the
window. He watched me with curious eyes
as I got garlic and fast-acting yeast out of the refrigerator.
“So what are we having? Can I
smoke in here?”
“No.”
“You do.”
“It’s my house.”
(from Black Notice
by Patricia Cornwell)
7*/10. The complete review is here.
.
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