Chapter Thirteen
Roger McKinley, the magazine’s editor, called me into his office the following morning. Now, Roger and I didn’t normally have much contact besides the usual handing-off of layouts to proof, or the occasional phone call where he needed me as backup on some fine point of grammar or syntax because a freelancer was giving us grief over something we’d changed in an article. I liked Roger well enough, but my job just didn’t require a lot of one-on-one contact with him.
As usual, he looked vaguely rumpled and a little unfocused. Roger was a native of Southern California, just as I was, but he had always looked sort of English to me, too pasty for Los Angeles. Someone could have cast him as Tim Roth’s younger brother with no problem.
Feeling somewhat uneasy, I took the seat he
