By Leonard Bloomfield
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Morris ever saw it. ” “A lot more than that. ” “Oh! That makes me so mad. He said he was getting the vasectomy so I wouldn’t have to go through the ordeal of having my tubes tied. But his real reason was so he could go out and—” She began to sob. “I’m sorry. I know this is tough. ” She asked the woman to come to her office on Monday and said goodbye. Rebecca never hired a private investigator for any of her cases, preferring to do the work herself. The experience she had gained during her college years while working with her dad had made her a better investigator than most of the local hacks would ever be.
He was gone. Her heart was racing. She turned on the table lamp and ran to the window. It was closed and locked. After taking a couple of slow, deep breaths, she got back into bed. It was the emails—they were giving her nightmares. But it was silly. She’d already determined they were coming from a horny teenage boy. They were meant for some high school girl—not for her. She rolled over and went back to sleep. ” said Candy. Larry was lying beside her on the bed. “One more time. ” Candy sounded tired.
Cool, he thought. I stayed up late reading this chapter and IT WAS WORTH EVERY MINUTE! Yes, it was. Your murder scenes are so real and detailed that I nearly vomited. Excellent, he thought. After all these years with no recognition of his considerable talent, finally the public had come to its senses. Soon he would be laughing at those idiot agents who had rejected him. With his first six books, he couldn’t even give them away. Now, he was writing a masterpiece—a best-seller! You’re my new favorite author.
Language by Leonard Bloomfield