File M For Murder

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Connor Lawton made an abysmal first impression on his initial visit to the Athena Public Library.

Now, four weeks later, I’d seen enough of the tattooed playwright to know he didn’t improve on further acquaintance.

This afternoon, I wanted to curse my luck as I watched him amble toward the reference desk, where I waited to help library patrons.

From around my feet I heard an interrogative warble, and I glanced down at Diesel, my three-year-old Maine coon cat. He always seemed to sense when something, or someone, caused me stress or anxiety, and I had to smile. “It’s okay, boy. Nothing to worry about.”

Diesel warbled again and stretched, reassured.

“Talking to your feet?” Connor Lawton gave me a sour smile. He looked more like a prize fighter than a playwright, with his broken nose, buzzed haircut, and muscular frame. Today he wore a sleeveless shirt that revealed the colorful ink on his upper arms. The tattoos, Japanese in style, offered a stark contrast to his tanned skin and white shirt. A diamond stud glittered in his left ear.

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