In which Lelia discovers that her husband is on a first name basis with a store owner . . . Before you start fussing about terms, remember that Lelia is the one thinking, not the author.
Two weeks later, Lelia peered at the items inside the counter of Baker’s, a place her husband apparently frequented, based on the enthusiastic greeting by the manager. “Good morning, André! You’re out early. Your ammunition’s still en route.”
André had the grace to turn a little pink and cough as he studied the carpet. “Neil, my wife Lelia Chan. Lelia, Mr. Neil Baker. She needs something for self defense that can tolerate purse carry. Not semi-auto, I don’t think.”
“Ah.” The manager hitched his belt up a little. He wore a fancy tooled leather belt with a very large pistol in the holster on his right side, as well as suspenders holding up brown work-pants. He had a little pot belly, and kind black eyes. “Have you ever fired a handgun before, ma’am?” Continue reading →