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The Lunacy and the Lace
Ethan Hamill |
At the climax of Cry Bloody Murder, neo-pulp private operative Dick Dudgeon had dispatched
SCORPION's evil second-in-command with his fabled Magnum 45 in a shoot-out on the very
steps of the Municipal Building. Now Peter Cloverdale was at the Saints and Scholars Bookstore
to pick up the sequel, More Deadly Cries, wherein Dudgeon would vanquish the drug cartel's whole
worldwide operation.
He never made it to the Thrillers bookstall. In his way was the salesgirl at the Poetry kiosk. He
ambled over, picked up the first book of poems he saw. It was called Queen Anne's Lace and
Other Summer Miracles. That was the girl. Short brown hair, the face from a cameo, white
blouse with lace collar, a pale-grey skirt of just-proper length and low pumps of matching hue.
Her nametag told him that hers was Amber.
"These are early works of Cynthia Hall," she pronounced the author's first name, Cyn-THY-a,
"written when she was still at Chestnut Hill College. But, of course, you probably know that."
"I didn't, but I do now," he said, fighting down the nervousness.
"It is a beautiful re-print, don't you think?"
"Beautiful." He added quickly: "I'll take it as a gift."
She was so proficient writing him up, then gift-wrapping the small volume in paper he allowed
her to choose. Finally came the gift-tag.
"Would you like to sign the party's name?" she asked.
"No, you do that," he smiled. "The name is Amber."
"That's my name."
He kept smiling. "That's your book," he said, "without the discount."
When she remained speechless, he followed up diffidently:
"Do they ever give you coffee breaks around here?"
"They do," she smiled back.
"That's great," he nodded. "I'll be in Thrillers."
SCORPION's evil second-in-command with his fabled Magnum 45 in a shoot-out on the very
steps of the Municipal Building. Now Peter Cloverdale was at the Saints and Scholars Bookstore
to pick up the sequel, More Deadly Cries, wherein Dudgeon would vanquish the drug cartel's whole
worldwide operation.
He never made it to the Thrillers bookstall. In his way was the salesgirl at the Poetry kiosk. He
ambled over, picked up the first book of poems he saw. It was called Queen Anne's Lace and
Other Summer Miracles. That was the girl. Short brown hair, the face from a cameo, white
blouse with lace collar, a pale-grey skirt of just-proper length and low pumps of matching hue.
Her nametag told him that hers was Amber.
"These are early works of Cynthia Hall," she pronounced the author's first name, Cyn-THY-a,
"written when she was still at Chestnut Hill College. But, of course, you probably know that."
"I didn't, but I do now," he said, fighting down the nervousness.
"It is a beautiful re-print, don't you think?"
"Beautiful." He added quickly: "I'll take it as a gift."
She was so proficient writing him up, then gift-wrapping the small volume in paper he allowed
her to choose. Finally came the gift-tag.
"Would you like to sign the party's name?" she asked.
"No, you do that," he smiled. "The name is Amber."
"That's my name."
He kept smiling. "That's your book," he said, "without the discount."
When she remained speechless, he followed up diffidently:
"Do they ever give you coffee breaks around here?"
"They do," she smiled back.
"That's great," he nodded. "I'll be in Thrillers."
