"r" is for Ricochet
“The guy was tall, lean, and rangy in jeans and a supple black suede jacket. He had his hands in his jacket pockets and his collar turned up, which didn’t look as thuglike as it sounds. His hair was a tawny mix of blond and brown, and his half-smile created a deep crease on either side of his mouth. Beside him, Reba was diminutive, a full head shorter than he, which forced him to lean toward her attentively as the two of them talked. I went back to cleaning my bowl—food, in this instance, taking... precedence over idle speculation.
A moment later they appeared and Reba gestured at him. “Alan Beckwith. I used to work for him. This is Kinsey Millhone.”
He held his hand out, his wrist thin, his fingers long and slim. “Nice to meet you. I’m Beck to most.”
I put him in his thirties—fine lines on his face, but no pouches anywhere. “Nice meeting you, too,” I said, shaking hands with him. “Are you joining us?”
“If you don’t mind. I don’t want to butt in.”
“We’re just chatting,”MoreLess
A moment later they appeared and Reba gestured at him. “Alan Beckwith. I used to work for him. This is Kinsey Millhone.”
He held his hand out, his wrist thin, his fingers long and slim. “Nice to meet you. I’m Beck to most.”
I put him in his thirties—fine lines on his face, but no pouches anywhere. “Nice meeting you, too,” I said, shaking hands with him. “Are you joining us?”
“If you don’t mind. I don’t want to butt in.”
“We’re just chatting,”MoreLess
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