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Good afternoon, snippeteers! It’s a grey and grumpy day in England, just the ticket for staying glued to the sofa with a book, the laptop, my knitting and a cup of tea somewhere in the offing. I had a lovely productive week, finalising Crossfire, my contribution to the big MM Romance Valentine’s Day giveway. Only the final proof left to check, and after yesterday’s marathon session hunting spare spaces and stray commas and making sure the files are properly pretty, I need a couple of days to look at something else first.
So I’m writing Starstruck, with excursions into my newest project, a Great War whodunnit/spy story, when Josh and Matisse aren’t cooperating. For the moment, the two are having fun, so I’m continuing their exploits here. We left Josh last week a little baffled by the fact that plenty of witnesses had seen the thief he’s hunting, but none of their descriptions matched. Here he is now, questioning another witness.
“Would you recognise him, if he came again?”
“I’d probably recognise someone else.” Her lips curled up a tiny bit at the corners as if one of her thoughts was amusing.
“How do you mean?”
“I thought he looked like Michael Caine,” she admitted.
“Did he wear glasses?”
“Yes. Those chunky, black-framed ones. And his hair stuck out at the back.”
Josh could picture the look without even trying. “Suit and tie?”
“I’m not sure.” She hesitated. “He wore gloves,” she said then, as if she’d only just remembered it and the sudden memory had surprised her. “Black ones.”