Forty-EightSenator Hector de Vile glanced over the Bourbon Lodge choices for the day and clicked his fingers to get the waiter’s attention. The private men’s club in a villa on Aristocracy Hill in Nevada City offered private meeting rooms, an extensive library, convivial poker games, and a small but generally very good food selection. This evening, the choices were venison stew or baked salmon, both locally sourced. To his annoyance, his guest for the evening was late, and he was about to order for both of them anyway when Corporal Edmund Quincey bustled into the room on a rush of urgent energy.
“Sorry, Hector. I really am. It’s been one of those days.”
The waiter scuttled over and pulled out a chair which Quincey sank into. “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve had to deal with.”
Hector held
