After nine, Karen telephoned Karl Fletcher's office.

"This is a coincidence," he said. "I was just going to call you, Miss Wilson. I've finished your novel and I'm quite excited about it."

"Really? You liked it then?" A tremor of elation spiraled through her. She visualized his pudgy, grinning face.

"I feel it definitely has merit. There are a few things… but nothing major," he said. "I've been trying to get around to calling you, but I've been… Say, why don't you have dinner with me this evening, where we can discuss it leisurely?"

"Well…" His voice was like syrup. She hesitated, then: "All right, I'd like that, Mr. Fletcher."

"Around eight then… I'll call for you?"

"Very well… around eight."

Karen cradled the receiver and smiled. So, maybe… this was it… the long awaited big break. She was… pleased as she moved slowly into the kitchenette… and proceeded to make herself a third cup of instant. No bourbon necessary this time, she decided. Maybe, she could even work now, in fact, she thought, it was really going to be a good day in the long run.

Chapter 2

Karl Fletcher was somewhere in his early forties, Karen decided. He was rather short, perhaps a couple of inches taller than her five-five, and he was overly puffy about the middle, but he dressed with taste and the expensive cut of his clothes hid it well. He had the fat man's second, almost third chin, small wet, colorless eyes and a tiny, babyish mouth that seemed constantly engaged in a rather simpering smile. It was like a dimple in the center of his pink, cherubic face… not exactly the date of her choice, she mused, but she was quite thrilled and pleased when he told her they were going to the Hearthstone.