His body sat slumped over her two front steps.  Both elbows he had folded across his bald knees, and in one hand he was gripping a small leather carrying case.  It was a nice case, perfect for a pair of reading glasses or perhaps a calligraphy pen, with an embossed horseshoe and a string of southwestern colors needle-pointed along the edges.

Dorothy Ulmer stretched her kitchen phone cord as far as it would allow.  Her peach blush smudged the handset, her black bouclé trousers pulled at the seams, but still there was no way to tell if the strange man at her door had his eyes open or shut. read more