“You clean up nicely. You look human for a change,” Ruben said when I sat down.
“I can say the same for you,” I responded coolly. He snorted.
“I was scared you might arrive in your leathers.”
“What kind of an accountant would I be if I wore leathers?”
“That’s my girl,” Ruben said, smiling. I wanted to tell him how much I wasn’t his girl, but before I could another woman arrived at our table. She introduced herself and Celia Clemens, journalist for the Westham Gazette. I didn’t know why she bothered with the title. There was only one newspaper in town. The Gazette had a monopoly that claimed all the stories right off the bat. No competitors? Tough life.
I looked at her carefully. She had mouse-brown hair pulled back in a low bun, and glasses with rims that stretched across half of h
