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Sorry, Wrong Number - Part 2

Lizzie and Quinn short story

Lizzie frowned down at the sticky honey she had spotted on the sleeve of her blue terry cloth robe. When she made a mess, she made a mess. "Quinn, hold on one more second," she said into the phone and reached for another paper towel.

She wet the towel in the sink and dabbed at her sleeve and then at the belt of her robe. A bird fluttered past the kitchen window, drawing her glance to the bright April morning outside.

"Lizzie?" Quinn said on the telephone. "I've got a meeting in about --"

Sorry, Wrong Number - Part 1

Lizzie and Quinn short story

His ergonomically-correct desk chair, inherited from his predecessor, creaked under his lean six-foot-one frame when he reached sideways for the ringing phone. Indexing his place in his report with his finger, John Quinn made a mental note to order a new chair. "University police. Chief Quinn speaking."

"Quinn, it's me."

Good thing his office door was closed. He could feel a sappy grin spreading across his face. "Hi, me," he said.

"Do you have a moment?" she said.

What Quinn Wrote

Letter to Wade Garner:

I was going to call, but I thought it would be easier to put this down on paper. Help me think it through while I’m writing it. . . .

First, I want to think you for the job offer. Director of Toronto, Canada Headquarters of Garner Security is damn impressive. And you know I’ve been giving it a lot of serious thought.

But I’m going to have to pass on this one, buddy.

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