The Thread: From The Dog Who Knew Too Much
Women of a certain type have an effect on Bernie. This was that type of woman, easy to see just from the way Bernie’s mouth fell slightly open. Curvy shape: check. Big blue eyes: check. Face tilted up in his direction: check. Poor Bernie: that was all it took.
“That’s me,” Bernie said. “And this is Chet.”
She backed away. “He’s so big. I’m not comfortable around dogs.”
Not comfortable around me? True, I’m a hundred-plus pounder, but she had nothing to be uncomfortable about, unless she pulled a gun or something like that. I watched her hands, square-shaped, a little plump, with bright red nails.
“You can be comfortable around Chet,” Bernie said.
“Why is he looking at me like that?”
Bernie glanced over at me. “Uh, not sure, actually. But he means well.”
Of course I did! But I kept my eyes on her hands, just in case. Funny how the mind works: mine was making some kind of connection between red nails and guns. Then I started thinking about the way women paint their nails – I’d seen Leda, Bernie’s ex-wife, do it many times – and men never did. Next I thought about what human nails were for, so small and dull-edged. And after that I lost the thread.
Welcome Amy Mae.
Tomorrow: asteroid mining, pros and cons.
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