And shitting around doing anything and everything but what I should be doing isn't the most helpful of things.
So, now, I have to stop messing around and write psychobyte ... time is running out and it has to be done before I go away. No more excuses or sidetracking or just plain old procrastination. This story needs finishing.
I do have one less thing to do.
Yesterday at Writer's Plot I asked for a volunteer to write the final Sister Mary-Margaret chapter. The Oracle said she would, so I have sent her the file ... all the stories ... and I now have one less thing to do. Yay. Because that one thing was doing my head in.
Am down to finishing psychobyte ... and writing a Weird Tale for a BeanPods Press anthology.
The only really important thing is psychobyte. I want to enjoy my holiday without an unfinished novel hanging over my head!
So, today, I'm going to write ... and bake and probably have coffee with The Admins and with Bat Girl.
And, yeah, write.
So this is what I'm working on:
rough/not edited/raw words!
He hung up leaving me staring at my phone. He was coming and it didn’t kill my budget. Both very good things. I just hoped he could make sense out of what my gut thought and give me something tangible we could work with.
The next call was to Mallory Stevens. I rang the number I’d copied from Phoebe’s cell phone.
“Good morning Ms. Stevens,” I said as a husky female voice answered the phone.
“Good morning. You are?”
“Special Agent Conway with the FBI. I’d like to talk to you about Phoebe Childs.”
“I … I don’t …,” she faltered. “… I haven’t seen Phoebe in a while.”
Really? Why can’t people just tell the truth?
“How about you accept that I know about your relationship and we move on from there?”
“I really don’t think I have anything to say to you Agent.”
“But I think you do.” Something told me she didn’t know about Phoebe. “Would you like to come into my office or shall I come to you?”
“Um, ah, can we meet somewhere?”
“Sure, where do you suggest?” I crossed my fingers, hoping it wasn’t a café. Coffee and I were about to end our long standing friendship. Water was my new best friend.
“The Firehook in an hour?”
* * *
Kurt nudged me. I looked up in time to see Sasha Petrovovich walking toward us.
“He looks like Misha …,” I murmured turning to Kurt slightly.
“Uncanny isn’t it?” Kurt replied.
“Do all Russian men look like they’ve escaped from a romance novel?”
“Maybe they do.”
I stepped into a small patch of sunlight and extended my hand to the tall man wearing a long leather coat. He smiled and shook my hand. Charming.
“Agent Conway,” he said. “I am Sasha Petrovovich.”
“Thank you for coming,” I replied. “This is SSA Kurt Henderson.”
“Agent Henderson,” Petrovovich said with warmth.
“Kurt will do fine.”
Introductions over, we escorted our charge to the waiting car. Kurt explained where we were going first and gave him a bit of background regarding the case.
“I saw something about the case on the news this morning, right before I left New York,” Petrovovich said. “It seems challenging.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I replied.
* * *
I watched from the car as Mitch rand across the parking lot and disappeared through the door to Safeway. My smile reflected from the car window as I waited.
A phone call distracted me from my vigil.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah. I’m on my way in to work.”
Pretty sure the silence on his end was filled by a hamster running on a wheel.
“We have another death.”
“I’m twenty minutes away.”
“About that … you’ve got an appointment this morning with my pal Jeremy Johansen.”
“And he is?”
“The doctor I mentioned yesterday. The appointment is at ten.”
My watch said it was half-eight.
“Where’s his office?”
Mitch opened the car door and angled in behind the wheel. He reached over and dropped a box of crystallized ginger in my lap. I smiled at him and mouthed the words ‘thank you’.
“Kurt? Where do I need to be?” I hoped it was D.C.
“Where’s the latest crime scene?”
That wasn’t going to work.
“Are you in the office now?”
“Wait for me. I’m coming to you.”
I hung up. Mitch’s hand was on the ignition.
“Problem?” he asked.
“Scheduling conflict,” I replied. “How flexible are you this morning?”
He took his hand off the ignition and turned to face me.
“Kurt got you an appointment with the specialist?”
“Uh huh, at ten in Falls Church.”
Mitch took his phone from the cradle on the dash and made a call. I didn’t listen. My mind was swirling between another death and thoughts of the specialist appointment. When the hum from Mitch’s voice stopped I glanced at him. He smiled, placed the phone back in the cradle and said, “I’m going to need to work late tonight but I’ve cleared my morning.”
And with that I shall leave you for a bit and go actually work!!!
Yeah, that. :)