I eyed it with suspicion, since Peter had told me the previous night that he would be in a meeting long before any patisserie pulled its first croissant out of the oven. Caron was asleep upstairs. My best friend, Luanne, was stalking bimboys on the beaches of southern Spain. I reluctantly picked up the receiver. “Hello?” “Oh, Ms. Marroy, I hope I am not disturbing you, but I know how much you want to volunteer and how bad I felt that you could not tutor and now I can think of—” “Good morning, Keiko. How are you?” I said soothingly, given that she sounded like a canary frantically beating its wings against the bars of its cage. “I would not bother you with such an early call, but—” “Breathe in, breathe out. Think of cherry blossoms and tiny waves lapping on the beach. Take a deep breath and let it out in a gentle breeze. You can do it.” There was a moment of such silence that I wondered if she’d stopped breathing altogether. Finally she said, “I am sorry, Ms.
What do You think about Murder As A Second Language?
