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''Precisely, but only if you think it's worth the time and effort.'' |
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I started to laugh. Brenda Cashman was a cagey one; she knew I was hooked. It was simply a case of reeling in the line, and I was all too aware that she had already started. Still I had to ask. "I'm missing something here. Suppose I do follow up on this, and it turns out to be one helluva story. What do you get out of it?" |
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The Cashman smile had gone from manufactured to genuine; I was talking her language. "Two things," she admitted. "You follow up, and if this leads where I think it leads, you've got yourself one spine-tingling, dark fantasy in the making. Then, while your publisher is doing his thing, I use the same data to write my obscure, albeit sensational thesis and complete the requirements for my doctorate." |
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"Intriguing bit of chicanery," I admitted. In truth, it's a little tough to negotiate nose to nose with someone who's broke and struggling to get their credentials. Only a prick would chip away at an offer like hers, and I wasn't feeling prickish on this particular morning. "So, let's see what it is that triggered your trip to Saint Francis." |
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She hauled out the bulky, oversized portfolio and reached into a side pocket, emerging with two pieces of paper. She unfolded them and slid them across the table. |
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