“You"re certainly looking spiffy this morning, Miss Annie,” Mark remarked as we walked to our table in the Lebanese diner. “I chose this establishment because I know you don"t drink, and the Red Ox Inn is notorious for its drinks and drinkers.”
“Besides,” I said, checking my BlueBell phone, “This place is cheaper and you took nurse Molly Dewitt to the Red Ox Inn just last night.”
“Oh, that hurts.” Mark smacked his head with his hand. “It"s also true, but that"s not the reason we"re here. I like Lebanese food, and I have a hangover this morning.”
“You know the saying, a hair of the dog that bit you,” I said. “My mother always said that.”
“Not true. Tell me, dear,” Mark slid a chair from beneath a table for me. There were no servers in sight and the cook was busy behind the bar. “Tell me
