Free Night Vision by Ellen Hart Page A

mad. But it will come to me.”
    â€œProbably my generally obtuse behavior.”
    â€œProbably,” she said, dropping down on the couch in the living room. She picked up a stuffed bear and hugged it to her chest.
    â€œMaybe I was mad at you, ” said David, finding his own stuffed animal to hug—a fluffy white sheep.
    â€œI seem to detect a pattern here,” said Joanna.
    â€œAre you saying we’re predictable?”
    â€œBoringly adolescent is more like it.”
    â€œThen maybe we should turn over a new leaf. No more yearlong snits.”
    â€œWhat’s life without a little drama?”
    He shrugged. Walking over to the windows, he looked out at the lights of downtown Minneapolis. “Great view. You really think Luberman’s after you again? I mean, those flowers you got weren’t precisely the same.”
    â€œI know in my gut that it’s him.”

    In David’s opinion, Joanna’s “gut” wasn’t famous for its accuracy. Even so, he felt deeply sorry for her. He wanted to help. “Are you scared?”
    â€œHell, yes!”
    He noticed now that she was drinking. Normally, the hardest thing she ever touched was an occasional beer. Turning to the dining room, he spied two wooden cases of wine on the table. “You planning to drink yourself to death?”
    â€œThe wine? It’s a gift from one of the tenants. He’s a wine importer.”
    â€œLucky you. You’re already making friends.”
    â€œYeah, lucky me.”
    He sat down on the couch next to her. “Just tell me what you want me to do. If I can help, I will.”
    â€œThanks. Let me think about it.”
    â€œHave you unpacked yet?”
    She took a sip of the scotch, held the glass to her cheek. “Yeah. Nothing else to do. Cordelia left a couple of hours ago. She had to get over to the theater. Jane left, too. She had to work tonight at that new restaurant of hers.”
    â€œWanna go check it out?”
    â€œThe Xanadu Club? Right now?”
    â€œSure. Why not?”
    She covered his hand with hers. “I do want to see it, but … I just don’t feel up to it tonight. Besides, if Gordon is out there somewhere—”
    â€œDon’t do that, Joanna. Don’t let him force you to live in a cave. I mean, look. It may not even be him. There may be some other explanation. Getting out would do you a world of good.”
    She listened but shook her head. “I know you’re right, but the flight here was tiring. I just don’t have the steam tonight. Another night, okay?”
    â€œOkay.” He glanced at his duffel bag. “Where do I bunk?”
    â€œYou’re gonna just love this, Davey. Every room in this loft has a theme. I’m staying in the rooster bedroom right off the kitchen.”
    â€œRooster bedroom? You dare talk about a ‘rooster bedroom’ to a professional interior designer?”

    â€œYou’ll love it. Roosters everywhere. Resin rooster hooks. Rooster plates. A rooster braided rug. Even rooster sheets and pillowcases.”
    â€œAre there any rooster barf bags?”
    She socked him in the arm. “And then there’s another room that’s sort of retro-Americana—photographs of old gas stations from the fifties, art deco malt shops, old cars, and stacks and stacks of old postcards. Oh, and there’s a Father Knows Best poster over the bed.”
    â€œThat’s where I want to die, Joanna. It’s too perfect for words.”
    â€œAnd the bathroom off that bedroom is decorated all in apple decor.”
    â€œApple decor,” he repeated, smiling with absolutely no warmth.
    â€œThe other bedroom is pigs and chickens. The Americana bedroom shares the apple bathroom with the pigs and chickens bedroom.”
    He put his hand over his stomach. “I may need to use that rooster barf bag sooner rather than later.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his