///////////////////

Chapter Nine

/////////////////

Jimmy put on his only suit to go meet with Hal Thompson at 
the Herald.  He had purchased it three years ago at a K-mart 
for his father's funeral and hadn't worn it since.  It took a 
bit of squeezing, but he managed to make it fit.

"I'm so proud of you," Amy had said to him that morning after 
breakfast.  "I have to say I didn't think this little scheme 
of yours was going anywhere."

"That's because you don't understand the news business," he'd 
said.

"Oh, and you do?"

"I know enough to know these jackasses are going to be 
begging me for my information."

"How much will they pay?"

"Is that all you think about is money?"

"We could use the money, Jimmy."

"I know we could use it.  Jesus, you think I'm blind?  But 
that's not always how it works.  I have to give them a taste 
to whet their appetites.  Then maybe they'll give me a job."

"Just don't let them use you."

It was with those words ringing in his ears that Jimmy rode 
the elevator up to the main offices of the Boston Herald 
newspaper.  "I'm here to see Hal Thompson," he told the young 
man at the main desk.  "My name is James Trumbull."

The young man looked unimpressed.  "Do you have an 
appointment?"

"Yes, I do."  Jimmy drew himself up to his full height and 
looked around at the people working in the offices.  No one 
was paying him any mind.

Just you wait, he told himself, they will.

The kid at the desk finally checked the computer.  "Mr. 
Thompson is expecting you," he said with some surprise.  "You 
can go right in.  It's the office at the back."

"I can find it, thanks."

He liked the fact that Hal Thompson stood when he entered the 
office.  "Mr. Trumbull, thank you for coming in today," he 
said.  He had a great big voice to match his great big chest.  
In another life, Hal Thompson had been a Texas cowboy.  He 
even had a bit of a drawl.  "Won't you have a seat?"

"Call me Jimmy.  Everyone does."

Thompson smiled, displaying a row of capped white teeth.  
"All right, all right.  Jimmy it is.  You said on the phone 
that you had a little business to discuss with me, Jimmy."

"I've been following some of the cops on the serial case, and 
it seems like it's taking an odd turn.  There's this old case 
with part of a file missing, and one detective is trying to 
track it down.  Seems a call girl filed an assault report a 
couple of years ago and now no one can find her."

"You don't say."  Thompson leaned back in his chair and ran a 
hand through his shock of white hair.  "You wouldn't happen 
to know this girl's name, now would you?"

"I've got her name.  I even think I may know where she 
lives."

"Interesting.  Very interesting.  And your sense is that the 
cops think this girl is connected to the serial murders?"

"It makes sense.  Otherwise, why would cops on the task force 
be trying to find her?"

"Good point."  He narrowed his eyes at Jimmy.  "Just what are 
you proposing here?"

"I want to write the story for you, freelance."

"Have you written for other publications in the past?"

Jimmy felt his cheeks warm just a bit, but he stood his 
ground.  "No, this would be the first time.  But I took a 
writing course a few years ago at the BU extension school.  
Got an A, too."

"I'm sure you did," Thompson said, dripping with 
condescension. "But that's not the same as actual journalism 
experience."

"How am I supposed to get experience if you don't let me 
try?"

"We're a major newspaper in a big-market town.  We can't just 
let anyone off the street publish in our paper."

"It's my story."

"What if we gave you a shared by-line?  You could tell the 
story, but one of our writers would write it.  You would get 
credit for your investigatory work."

"No way.  I want just my name on it or there's no deal.  I'm 
sure the Globe would be happy to listen to what I've got to 
say."  He rose from his chair, prepared to leave, but he knew 
Thompson wouldn't let him get far.  The Globe's coverage of 
the case already outstripped the smaller Herald's.

"Wait, just wait.  Don't rush off now.  I'm sure we can work 
something out to our mutual satisfaction."

Jimmy sat, feeling very satisfied indeed.

///////

The morning dawned bright and clear, if still cold.  Scully 
joined Mulder for a quick bite in the dining room before they 
headed out into the winter day.  As they passed the front 
desk, the concierge called out to her.  "Ms. Scully?  Ms. 
Scully, wait one minute, please."

They both turned and waited because Mulder could go nowhere 
without her.  Her car remained buried as a modern ice 
sculpture back in the downtown Boston parking lot.

"This was delivered for you this morning," the concierge 
said, handing a lily across the desk to her.  "I thought 
perhaps you would want to get it into some water quickly."

"Thank you," Scully said, studying the newest addition to her 
collection.  It was pale yellow and smelled delicious.  She 
walked slowly back to where Mulder stood.

"Another one?" he asked.  "This is getting serious, Scully."  
The twinkle in his eye told her he was teasing.  "The next 
thing you know, this guy is going to be sending you bouquets.  
Then it's potted plants.  Soon you'll be tending a whole 
garden together."

"I don't really understand the purpose to this," she said as 
they walked to the car.  She did her best to shield the lily 
from the bitter cold.  "If someone wants my attention so 
badly, why is there never any card?"

"It wouldn't be from a secret admirer with a card," he said, 
as if explaining the obvious.

"Yes, but that's my question.  Why keep it secret?"

He unlocked the doors and they got inside.  "Maybe he's shy.  
Maybe he was disfigured in tragic tractor accident and is 
afraid that you'll find his visage unpleasant.  Maybe he just 
wants to mess with your head."

"It better not be the tractor thing."

He gave her a sideways glance.  "Scully!  I had no idea you 
were so prejudiced against injured farmers."

"Mulder, wait..."

"I was kidding."

"No, wait.  Stop the car."

He pulled over to the curb.  "What is it?"

"See right there? It's a flower shop just one block from our 
hotel.  I want to check it out."

Mulder sighed and put the car in park.  "Fine, but hurry back 
or the bus is leaving without you."

She looked back over her shoulder as he put the seat back and 
pulled out the morning paper.  "You're not coming with me?"

"To find out who's sending you flowers?  No thanks.  I'll 
stay here with the sports page."

So Scully walked the block alone until she reached the door 
of "Bloom County."  There was a slim Asian woman arranging 
flowers behind the counter.  "Yes, may I help you?" she asked 
when Scully approached.

"Maybe.  My name is Dana Scully, and I'm staying at the hotel 
down the street.  Someone has been sending me flowers, and I 
wondered..."

"Dana Scully, yes.  We sent over a flower this morning.  Did 
it not get there okay?"

"Oh, the flower was lovely, thank you, but it didn't come 
with any card."

The woman checked her computer.  "That's right.  No card.  
The purchaser ordered in cash yesterday."

"Cash.  So he was in here?"  Scully tried to see the monitor.

"Probably so.  I wasn't working yesterday, so I wasn't here 
to take the order."

"Do you know who did?"

"That would be Sally Perkins.  She might know.  Sally will be 
back tomorrow if you want to ask her."

"Thanks, I might do that."

She returned to the car to find Mulder's nose buried in the 
paper.  "Any luck?" he asked her as he closed it up.

"No, the order was placed in cash and the woman there wasn't 
on duty at the time."

"Tough luck," he said as he started the car.

"Mulder, I was thinking... do you think it could be Ray who 
is sending the flowers?"

"Ray?"

"Well, you're the one who suggested he has, ah, certain 
feelings for me."  The words brought back the memory of last 
night, when they sat in this very car and he showed her what 
Ray thought of her.

"Sure," he said, sounding tired all of a sudden.  He rubbed 
his face.  "Could be Ray."

"The question then is, what do I do about it?" 

"That has to be up to you."


///////////////


They sat in a rapidly cooling car outside a duplex house in 
Medford.  The bottom floor belonged to Annette Crenshaw.  
Manny had already tried the number they had gotten from her 
parents' phone bill, posing as a credit-card salesman, and 
Annette herself had answered.  She was home.

"Promise me," O'Hara said, "that this will be the end of it.  
We've got real work to do."

"What if she won't talk?" Manny asked.

"Then I say hallelujah and we can get back to the maniac who 
is murdering half of Boston.  Let's get on with it, shall 
we?"

The men got out of the car and climbed through the narrow 
passage between the snow banks.  The street itself was quiet, 
most people gone to work.  A pair of crows sat on the phone 
wire overhead, watching the cops as they walked up the front 
stoop.

"I hate those damn birds," O'Hara said.  "They're bad luck."

"That's black cats, you idiot, not black birds."

"Yeah?  What's that one from the creepy poem?  Nevermore?  
That guy died, Ahuja, and I think it was the bird that did 
it."

Manny rang the bell.  "That was a raven, not a crow."

"Same difference.  I've seen the movie, and I know the little
bastards are all evil."

Manny heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and a 
minute later, it cracked open to reveal a petite young woman 
with dark hair.  "Yes?" she asked them with the chain still 
in place.

Manny showed her his badge.  "Are you Annette Crenshaw?"

"Yes," she said, sounding wary.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, ma'am.  We just have a few questions we'd 
like to ask you.  My name is Detective Ahuja and this is 
Detective O'Hara.  We're with the Boston Police Department."

"Questions about what?"

"Do you mind if we come in and explain?  It's pretty cold out 
here on the porch."

She hesitated a moment longer and then closed the door to 
release the chain.  "May I see your identification again?" 
she asked.  They both offered up their IDs.  "Come in then.  
Watch out the cat doesn't get out."

A silky feline brushed up against Manny's legs as he stepped 
into the hall.  He scratched its ears before following 
Annette to her living room.  The cat ran after them, its soft 
feet like thunder on the hardwood floors.

"Please, have a seat," Annette said as she curled like a 
teenager into an overstuffed armchair.  "Tell me how I can 
help you."

Manny thought he saw a faint scar on her neck, possibly from 
the attack.  A moment later he was sure when she moved her 
hand to cover it.  "We have some questions about a report you 
filed two years ago with Detective LeBlanc.  You said you'd 
been assaulted."

"That's right."

"Part of your statement is missing," Manny explained.  "We're 
just here to fill in the gaps."

"You're working on my case?" she asked, and Manny felt a pang 
of guilt.  

"In a way," he said, and ignored the feel of O'Hara's eyes on 
him.  "We're trying to piece together what happened.  Can you 
tell us what you said to Detective LeBlanc that night?"

"I'm really trying to forget it."

"That's understandable."

The cat jumped up onto the chair with her and Annette pulled 
it into her lap.  "I don't even remember what I said to him, 
so I'm afraid I can't really help you.  I was pretty upset 
that night."

"Maybe if we showed you the part of the statement we do 
have," O'Hara suggested.  "Maybe that would jog your memory."

"I don't understand why this is so important.  It's not like 
you're going to catch this guy."

"Annette," Manny said, "it took major guts for you to go to 
the station and report this the first time.  The hardest 
part, you did that already.  We're just asking you to read 
the statement and see if there is anything you can remember 
about what's left out."

The young woman frowned but eventually stretched out her 
hand.  "Okay, I'll look."

They sat in total silence as she read through the pages.  
Manny saw her eyes well up and she kept one hand on the scar 
the whole time.  When she was done, she handed the pages 
back.  "It's all there.  Everything about... about what he 
did to me is in there."

"But the last pages, the ones with your signature and 
everything, those are missing."

"I'll sign it again if you need."

"No, it's not that.  We just need you to try really hard to 
remember what was in the missing pages."

"I told you I don't remember."

Manny studied her.  "I think you do.  As awful as what 
happened was for you, I think that's a night you remember 
forever.  It must have killed you to walk into a cop shop and 
tell everyone what happened.  Most girls in your situation 
would have just kept quiet."

"I was afraid," Annette murmured, bowing her head.  "I wanted 
them to catch him."

"We're still trying," Manny replied softly.  "Won't you help 
us?"

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"You have all the information already."

"Annette, listen," Manny said, sitting forward, "whatever was 
in these pages, someone in the station didn't want it to get 
out.  That's why it went missing.  We need to know what was 
so important that someone felt the need to try to cover it 
up.  You're the only one who can tell us."

She shook her head.

"Was it a cop?" O'Hara asked bluntly.  "Was it a cop who cut 
you?"

"I don't know who cut me."  She stood up, sending the cat to 
the ground with a confused "meow." "I never should have 
reported this in the first place."

"But you did.  Whatever you said then, you need to tell us 
now if we're ever going to catch the guy."

"You don't understand," she said, her back to them.  "I 
didn't leave anything out.  There's nothing more to say.  
Sandi was right, I should have left well enough alone."  She 
wiped at her eyes with one hand.

Manny grabbed a tissue from the coffee table and handed it to 
her.  "Who's Sandi?"

"She was my friend.  She got hurt pretty bad too, a few weeks 
before I did, but she kept her mouth shut.  She said the cops 
would give us nothing but trouble."

"Is that what happened?  Did the cops give you trouble?"

"No, everyone was really nice."  She squared her shoulders 
and faced them.  "Look, I'm sorry I can't help you, but you 
have everything you need to know."

"If a cop threatened you," Manny said, "tell us.  We can 
protect you."

She smiled sadly.  "You can't even catch the guy who raped me 
and nearly cut my throat in half.  That part of my life is 
over now, okay?  I've got a good job.  I pay my taxes.  I'm 
not hurting anyone here.  All I want now is to be left 
alone."

Manny gave her his card.  "If you change your mind," he said, 
"this is where you can reach me.  Day or night, okay?  That's 
my cell number."

"I won't change my mind."

"Maybe.  Maybe not."  He put out his hand and she shook it.  
"Two years is a long time to keep such a big secret."

"I told you.  There's no secret."

"Yeah.  I know what you told me.  Hang onto that card, okay?"

They left then, and O'Hara put back on his sunglasses.  
"Those damn birds are still sitting there."

"Will you shut up about the birds already?"

"Can't help it.  Birds just give me the willies.  What did 
you think of the girl?"

"Oh, there's a cop involved.  I know it for sure now, and she 
knows his name.  She just can't say it yet."

"Stay out of this.  I'm begging you."

"Mark my words.  We'll be back here before the week is out."

////////////

That night, Annette watched the ten o'clock news from her 
bed.  Willow curled into a ball near her hip and was asleep 
within seconds.  Annette let her fingers play over the golden 
fur as the news anchor started in with the main story.

As it had been all week, the serial murder investigation led 
off the broadcast. "Channel Fifty-six News has learned there 
may be a new development in the hunt for Boston's serial 
killer.  In the morning, the Boston Herald will report on an 
old case involving an alleged assault on a local woman named 
Annette Crenshaw two years ago.  Sources close to the story 
believe that this person responsible for this attack may be 
the same one who is now murdering virtually at will in the 
Boston area."

"Oh, my God," Annette said, sitting up.  Willow yawned and 
stretched.  "Oh, my God."

She grabbed the phone from her nightstand and plucked the 
card the Detective had given her earlier.  As he had 
promised, the phone rang through to him immediately.  
"Detective Ahuja," he said.

"This is Annette Crenshaw," she said, so angry she was 
shaking.  "Why didn't you tell me why you were here?  Why 
didn't you say it has to do with the serial murder case and 
that you think I might have been attacked by that guy?"

"I didn't say it because we don't think it."

"That's not what the news says!"

"The news?  What news?"

"On channel fifty-six just now, they said you were looking 
into my case in relation to the murders."

"Well, the news has it wrong."

Annette sank back down on the bed.  "Why would they say that 
if it wasn't true?"

"The news gets a lot of things wrong.  If it makes you feel 
any better, I can tell you we looked at the blood type of the 
killer and the man who attacked you, and they don't match.  
Does that help?"

"Not really."  Her initial adrenaline fading, she realized 
she had a new problem.  Everyone in the world would know 
about her assault.

"While I have you on the line," Detective Ahuja said, "is 
there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

Yes, she thought.  Go to hell.  

But her mother had raised her better than that.  She merely 
hung up on him.


///////////


It was fucking cold but Jake went out anyway.  Tommy and 
Chris came along, with Tommy providing the transportation in 
the form of his mom's Taurus.  "This ride is bogus," Chris 
said from the back seat.  "It's like going cruising with my 
grandmother."

"Hey, I've had your grandmother and she was pretty hot," 
Tommy said, and Chris kicked the seat.

Jake took a sip from the bottle they had hidden inside a 
paper bag.  "You going to share that?" Chris asked, and so 
Jake handed it back to him.

"This shit is boring," Tommy said as they drove through Davis 
Square.  "All the shops are closed up and it's too damn cold 
for anyone to be outside. There's nothing happening."

"We have to make our own excitement," Chris said.

"Like what?" Tommy asked.

"Tufts is up the street, right?  Let's go see if we can talk 
our way into some girl's room."

"And do what, study with her?  It's a fucking Wednesday 
night.  There aren't any parties going on now."

"Hey, where I am, there is always a party."

"We could break into a house," Jake said.

The other two shut up in a hurry.  "What did you just say?" 
Tommy asked.  "Did you just say we should break into a 
house?"

"It's easy," Jake told him.  He took out his switchblade to 
show them.  "You jimmy the window open with this and you're 
inside in no time at all."

"Jesus, where did you get that?" Chris asked, leaning forward 
from the back seat.

"It was my dad's."  Jake held the knife so it glinted in the 
passing streetlights. "So are you in or out?"

"I don't know, man," Tommy said.  "So we break into some 
house and then what?  What if people are home?"

"If you're quiet then it doesn't matter."

"Yeah, but what if one of them hears you anyway?  Or what if 
there's a dog?"

Jake laughed.  "You're scared of a dog?"

"There's that psycho going around killing people right now," 
Chris reminded them.  "People are scared shitless.  I know if 
I saw some strange guy in my house I'd shoot first and ask 
questions later, you know what I'm saying?"

"Oh, like you have a gun," Tommy said.

"My dad has one.  I saw him cleaning it just the other 
night."

"So what you're saying is you two are too chicken shit to do 
it," Jake said.  "I understand."

"Some other time, maybe," Tommy said, exchanging a look with 
Chris.  "Right?"

"No way," Chris said.  "That is some fucked-up shit he's 
proposing.  I don't want any part of it."

"Are you calling me fucked up?" Jake demanded, whirling on 
his friend.  "Are you?"

"Hey, take it easy, man," Tommy said as he tried to keep the 
car on the road.

"Take it back!" said Jake, lunging into the backseat.

"Get off me!  God, you are really a psycho.  Tommy was 
right."

Jake sagged back into his seat, looking at his oldest friend 
in the passing light.  "You said I was a psycho."

"No, of course not.  Don't believe Chris, man.  You know he 
makes shit up all the time."

Jake flicked the blade open.  "I think he's telling the 
truth.  I think you did call me a psycho."

"Put the knife way, huh?  We don't need that.  I'm trying to 
drive here."

"Maybe I am a psycho.  How would that be?  The two of you in 
this car with me, and I'm a psycho?  I could slash you right 
here and they wouldn't find your bodies until morning."

"Stop it," Tommy said.  "Just stop it!"

"I want him out of the car," Chris said.

"Fine with me," Jake said.  "Pull over."

"Jake, listen.  You don't need to do this."

"Pull over!"

Tommy steered the car to the curb and Jake leapt out into the 
freezing cold night.  "Here's your psycho!" he hollered at 
them, kicking the door shut with his boot.  "How do you like 
that, huh?"

As the car sped away, he waved good-bye with his knife.


/////////


It was after ten when Mulder and Scully finally got around to 
dinner, which took the form of cold pizza and sodas in the 
conference room.  "So," Mulder said, "did you ask Ray about 
the flowers yet?"

Scully looked behind her to see if anyone else might be 
listening.  It was just the two of them in the room.  "No, 
and I don't think I will."

"Why not?"

"Because what if I'm wrong and it's not him?"

"So then he would say no, it wasn't him.  Big deal."

"It is a big deal.  I don't want to presume a relationship 
that isn't there."

Mulder stuffed the remains of a pizza crust in his mouth and 
reached for his soda.  "You mean you don't want to risk him 
saying yes."

"I-- that's not what I'm saying."

"I know it's not what you're saying.  It's what you're doing.  
It's what you're always doing -- running the opposite way 
when you think there might be some chance that real, live 
feelings are involved."

She put down her slice.  "So you think I am an unfeeling 
person.  That's what you're saying."

"No, that's what *you're* saying.  I'm saying you don't 
really want to figure out who this guy is because then you 
would have to address the fact that he has some romantic 
feelings for you.  That could get messy.  What if you don't 
return his feelings?"  He took a large bite from a new slice.  
"Or worse yet," he said through his chewing, "what if you did 
return his feelings?  As long as this man's identity remains 
a mystery, you don't have to deal with him."

"I'm going to find out," she said.

Mulder shrugged.  "Suit yourself."

She put her pizza aside and they sat in silence for a moment.  
"You know, Mulder, what about your reaction to the flowers?"

"My reaction?  I have no reaction, Scully, except perhaps 
amusement at the entertainment value."

"Yes, and why is that?"

"Do think I should have some reaction?"  He took his feet 
down from the extra chair and looked at her.  "What reaction 
would you like me to have?"

"Forget I mentioned it."

"No, I'm genuinely curious.  What would you like me to say 
here?"

"I just... I mean, in the car, when you said those things to 
me... when we..."

"Groped around like teenagers?"

"Mulder!"  She checked over her shoulder again.

"Relax, Scully, we're supposed to be groping, remember?  
That's the general idea."

So it was all part of the hoax?  She put her head in her 
hands, confused.  She wasn't sure whether she wanted to kiss 
him or kill him.

He reached over and touched her shoulder gently. "I think... 
I think you need to figure out your reaction to the flowers 
first.  Then I'll figure out mine.  Okay?"

"Is this a private party or can I join?" 

Scully looked up to see Manny Ahuja in the doorway.  "Come on 
in," she said, and he fished a can of Coke from the table as 
he took a seat on the other side of Mulder.

"How's it going?" he asked them.  "You two must feel like a 
couple of turkeys on Thanksgiving morning, huh?"

A couple of turkeys sounds about right, Scully thought.

"We feel pretty safe here, surrounded by rugged law 
enforcement," Mulder drawled, and Manny grinned.

"Listen, I wanted to pick your brains about something.  I've 
been following up on that other case, the one with the call 
girl who got attacked and then part of her statement went 
missing."

"I thought we decided that was a different assailant," Scully 
said.

"We did.  But the missing statement has been eating at me.  I 
figure it's got to be suppressed for a reason, right?  But 
everyone starts warning me away, telling me not to dig too 
deep.  Even O'Hara didn't want to get involved.  Anyway, we 
tracked down the girl today and she didn't really help us 
much."

He recounted a visit to Annette Crenshaw in which she claimed 
there was nothing missing from her statement.

"The girl is clearly spooked," he said.  "I think we've got 
some major cover up going on here and someone has warned her 
not to talk."

"Cover up of what?" Scully asked.

"That part I don't know.  I can't get her to tell me what was 
in the missing part of the statement, and I'm convinced she 
hasn't forgotten it like she says."

"Theories?" Mulder asked.

Manny hesitated.  "I think she must have been seeing a cop.  
I think that's maybe why she felt comfortable enough to come 
down here and report the whole thing in the first place.  
Maybe that cop's name is in the file."

"A good guess," Mulder agreed.  "But that's an awful lot of 
trouble to go to just to hide an indiscretion with a 
prostitute."

"I won't know more until I can get the story out of her."

"Sounds like you may just have to wait until she's willing to 
talk," Scully said.

"There might be another way," answered Mulder.  "If she won't 
tell you, find out who she's told.  Her parents, maybe?"

"They won't talk either. We tried them."

"What about a friend?  Someone she was working with back then 
might have known her client list."

"She did mention this one girl, Sandi, but she didn't give a 
last name."  He sighed.  "In the meantime, I've got bigger 
problems.  Any minute now, the Chief is going to want to know 
why the news is reporting the Crenshaw case is connected to 
the serial murders."

"They said that?  Why?"

"Damned if I know.  I don't even know how they found out 
about it.  I haven't talked, and I can't imagine O'Hara has 
either."  His cell phone rang and he checked the ID.  "Right 
on cue," he said as he got up from his chair.  He gave them 
both a mock salute.  "We who are about to die salute you."


//////////////////


He entered the way he always did -- silently.  Her old house 
had plenty of ill-fitting windows and he slipped easily 
inside out of the cold.  He narrowly missed stepping in the 
cat's water bowl in the kitchen before heading for the 
hallway towards the front.

The cat itself appeared, and he managed not to kick it across 
the room.  It hissed once.  He hissed back and it ran back 
into the bedroom.

"You can run, kitty, but you can't hide," he whispered.  He 
turned on his small flashlight and crept closer to the 
bedroom.

It was so quiet he could hear her even breathing.  He flicked 
his light over her sleeping form.  Slowly, slowly, he 
advanced.  He did not come this far to rush things now.

She did not awake until his fingers closed around her throat. 

Her eyes were wide and frightened.  He shrunk her pupils to 
tiny black dots with his flashlight.  She was struggling, 
kicking, but he was much too strong for her.

"Hello, Annette," he said.  "We're going to have so much fun 
together."

/////////////////////

End chapter nine.  Continued in chapter ten.

MaybeAmanda did double duty today.  She is a super-powered 
beta!

Whew? Are you as tired as I am after all that? Always curious 
to know what you think: syn_tax6@yahoo.com