Part Three
“I’m not what I appear to be, Sophie.”
I was just taking a sip when Mandy said this, and nearly sprayed coffee all over my kitchen, stifling a snigger. A good top is always in control, however. I managed to swallow most of it and clear my windpipe with a polite cough. My amusement was expressed only by an ironic smile as I replied, “That goes without saying.”
She appeared to be a prim little woman, wearing a white blouse buttoned to the throat and one of those silly little string neckties that made me think of Wyatt Earp. (From her dialect, I guessed that she was from the Northern Rockies, Montana maybe. My friend Hung Low could have probably told me which county, just by listening to a few words.) Below that she wore a gray skirt and blazer. Her shoes were sensible, made for
