The Dog Collar Murders (The Pam Nilsen Mysteries Book 3) by Barbara Wilson

Author:Barbara Wilson [Wilson, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781480455306
Publisher: Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller
Published: 2013-11-12T00:00:00+00:00

12

“SO, YOU LIKED GRACIE THEN?” Hadley said. It was Thursday night and Hadley had met me after work at Best to suggest we go to a Japanese restaurant. Now we sat at a black lacquered table surrounded by yuppies knowledgeably ordering plates of sushi and sashimi and discussing the architectural transformation of Seattle from a provincial but original city to a clone of San Francisco. What with the building of the convention center over the freeway, the excavation under major shopping streets for the bus tunnel and the wholesale knocking down of entire blocks in order to put up new skyscrapers, the downtown center of Seattle had become a sort of black hole. A favorite topic of conversation these days consisted of wondering what the city would look like when it was all over, whether in fact we could still be said to be living in Seattle. An interesting metaphysical conceit, I thought, though the yuppies weren’t doing it justice.

“Oh yes,” I said, spearing a piece of tempura sweet potato, “She was very—stimulating.”

Hadley nodded and finished off the shrimp. “Remember last week you said you’d be willing to talk about living situations this week?”

“Oh dear, is this the day?”

“Well, have you been thinking about it?”

“Yes. I’ve decided to move to New Zealand.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. No, I haven’t thought about it. I’ve had too much else to think about.”

“You know, Penny and Ray are ready to buy you out of that house whenever you want. You could use the money to make a down payment on something else.”

“On a house for myself? And what would you do—buy a house for yourself?”

“The market’s good right now.”

“Hadley—you’ve been looking for a house?” Without thinking I swallowed a too-large bit of wasabi, straight, and my throat burned with the fire of the horseradish paste.

“My eye sometimes wanders through the real estate ads,” she admitted.

“Couldn’t we live together in your house then? You could get a big one. Four stories—twenty rooms? We could each have a wing and meet for dinner twice a week?”

“Oh Pam,” she said, smiling. “This isn’t easy.”

“What are you so afraid of anyway,” I asked. “Aside from you bumping your head on the ceiling we seem to be doing okay living together. We both like the same foods, we’re both relatively neat and considerate. Yet we have separate interests and friends. We’re the model couple really. What would be so awful and different if we made it permanent?”

“That’s just it.” Hadley’s blue-green eyes darkened as she fastened on this word. “Permanency. Routine. The death of spontaneity. Lesbian marriage. The end of being able to come and go freely. The end of adventure. Entropy.”

“I get the picture,” I said. “But just when are you so into spontaneity and coming and going? You came back to Seattle partly to be with me and now you’re running this business which takes all your time. Where do you think you’re going? Living together isn’t death. It’s just saying to the world that we’re a couple, that we choose each other.

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