Dallyn Withers Maitland frowned with concentration at the report he was writing. While his right hand moved the mouse across his screen following the words and numbers he’d written, his left reached for his nearly full cup of hot soup.
The telephone rang, startling him. A curse left his mouth, and he moved the cup so it dripped soup on the floor now instead of in his lap. Exercise shorts may be comfortable to sit in, he thought, but they are not enough to keep hot broth from burning.
He glanced at the caller ID. Aunt Adelle. He cursed again and was grateful she couldn’t hear it. She was a royal pain. Whenever she called it was always for some penny-ante reason. He dare not ignore the call, though, or she’d go running to Johnson, and Johnson didn’t need to be – his eyes flicked to the clock – awakened – in Europe just because Dallyn didn’t answer his phone. He set the soup down on the absorbent coaster and reached for the phone.
“DW,” came the childish, whiny voice he detested. “This is Aunt Adelle. Where’s Terry?” (From Deadly Gamble by A M Jenner) Read More