Then I consider the possibility that maybe Dr. Letterman is the only shrink on the island. Or maybe he’s not a shrink at all, but a voodoo doctor who’ll want to sacrifice a chicken and read its entrails to see what’s wrong with me. That seems a little more up Eddie’s alley.
Except David Letterman doesn’t sound like a voodoo name.
I’m starting to get exhausted from my little mental guessing game, so I decide I’ll take a drive downtown later this afternoon after Fiona’s gone and pop into Letterman’s office.
You can tell a lot by someone’s office. If he’s got a nice secretary and the place doesn’t look like its recently hosted any black magic ceremonies, I’ll make an appointment. I’ve got dry cleaning to pick up, anyway, and the cleaners is only a block over.
Hopefully, my clothes are sti
