Six Seconds to Kill

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More martinis arrived. Camilla Steele touched the chilled glass lightly with her fingertips. She could coast with this one, taking her time, and if everybody stayed relaxed and cheerful, and if she remembered to eat something, there was a good chance that she could kill the evening, get to sleep at a reasonable hour and kill the night.

She raised her glass and smiled at the man she was with. “Pretty soon we ought to order dinner. But not right away.”

Even without her glasses, despite the subdued light, she was almost positive that the man’s name was either Wally or Joe. Lately the people she went to dinner with had tended to overlap at the edges. They wore the same kind of suits, made their living in similar ways and all, for some reason, seemed to smoke cigars.

He breathed out a plume of smoke. It was Wally, probably. He sold real estate, not that it mattered. He was the best kind-he never asked questions, and wasn’t interested in anything that had happened earlier than the previous week.

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