28 NoraNora draped her red parka over the dark wood back of the armless chair. She pulled down the cuffs of her olive-green V-neck sweater and flattened the bottom edge over her wheat-colored jeans.
Venetian blinds hung over the only window in the twelve-foot square room, stripes of gray sky alternating with white slats. The air smelled of dusty paper.
Planting her behind on the rigid chair’s uncushioned seat, she wiggled into position for what might turn out to be a lengthy stay.
It was one o’clock on Friday afternoon. Her flight from Spokane had landed seventy minutes ago at SEA-TAC.
She’d taken light rail from the airport to the University of Washington campus. She’d easily found the correct building and arrived one minute early for her meeting with Professor Jacques Fuselier.
But
