59An hour later, Pat and I clattered down the stairs.
I was dressed for business in my beige kitten-heeled pumps, reddish-brown cotton trousers, and a coffee-colored silk T-shirt.
Pat looked equally professional in his black half-boots, black-and-white polo, and black jeans.
I reached the main level at seven-fifteen. The scents of fresh coffee and hot grease filled the air.
Marina stood in front of the cooktop, spatula in one hand, her back to me.
Her crisply ironed apron strings were tied in a bow at her waist. Under the apron, she wore white Capri pants. Her print blouse featured red roses the size of cabbages.
A short, stocky man sat at the table in the breakfast area. His back was to me.
Half-inch long salt-and-pepper bristles covered his head. A red cotton T-shirt stretched acr
