The bluest blood

This infinite winter was becoming the stuff of seasonal legend. This is the sort of thing that makes us loathe Floridians and Californians--anyone who hasn't recently slammed his coccyx on the ice, or remortgaged his house to pay the heating bill, or ripped his hands putting chains on his car.

For the rest of the ride, I listened. And prayed, silently, for a visit from the goddess of inspired responses to impossible situations. There just had to be one in the pantheon. Or at least on the Internet. Maybe it was that Dot Com who was evoked in every online address. So I prayed to her.

Griffin nodded. He often had a gleam in his eye that made me suspect a private but rich vein of humor. Maybe someday he'd want to share it.

Loren Ulrich set his jaw and pursed his mouth with resentment. I had known too many others who, like him, suffered from Chronic Fatigue of the Heart and Will.

I could understand why she got excited about the idea of hiring a detective. My mother's life lacks event. She collects gossip from relatives and friends but it doesn't fulfill her daily drama requirements.

Clothes may make the man, but they remake the woman.