9
I let out a resigned sigh and agreed. I didn’t even know exactly what I was going to do yet, but I knew that the only way to lift the psychic pain from my shoulders was to do something. Anything. Tom took off. I did as many yoga stretches as my banged-up body would allow, then limped down to the kitchen. Julian was already there, dousing his espresso with sugar.
“I suppose that phone call woke you up,” he said, his voice full of sympathy. “Me, too.”
“Arch?”
“Slumbering deeply,” Julian replied. “Which is good. I know he was worried sick about you.”
“I’m glad he’s asleep.” I went to the front door and waved to Boyd, who signaled back. Apparently, he didn’t want to leave his patrol car, which was running. Back in front of my espresso machine, I asked Julian, “Did you have any weird dre
