I think the thing I miss most about my little house is my nighttime walk. And yes, Rob. He actually came over to the office the other day during lunch break to ask me why I had moved. I explained about how I was renting and the lease had expired and how I was now in an apartment. I think I rambled for hours but I had to, for I had just finished a most miserable case. It was old miser Ellington. Everyone knew that he was rich and snobby and made his wife work like a slave so when he died the town celebrated. Then poor Ellen (his wife, you understand) came to the office and asked me to write a "right pretty little thing about poor Eleazar". Rumor has it that she's always loved him, as long as they've been married and after looking at her tear-streaked face, I have to agree.
Anyway, about Rob...he had quite good timing. Right after I had finished writing and scrounging my poor brain trying to find the right words to say about that man (as if anyone's going to be at the funeral! poor Ellen...). But, anyway, Rob has good timing. Very good. Too good. Almost as though he knows me...or just watches me through a window-if he does this he is a creep!
But, no more a creep than Scottie is, I suppose. Scottie works here at the office. He's a investigative journalist and has quite the nose for good stories. He drops by and helps me write up my stories sometimes, when I'm looking more morose than usual...or, as he says, "'bout as bleak as a dead corpse". He's quite the cheerful, chipper sort of person. Last week Harry, the boss, gave me an investigative report job. Sent me down to a morgue.... Let's just say I came back and was able to write quite the descriptive epitaph. Yeah...Scottie was on the way to his job so he gave me a lift. And on the way, gave me a crash course on investigative reporting. In short, I learned that one must be like Sherlock Holmes to get a good article. And I was observant like a good girl and got praised by Harry for a job well done. When I started writing obituaries, the staff had a hard time believing that I had never taken any classes in writing beyond high school. I had really good teachers, though. Problem is, they assume that because I can write good obituaries I can write good articles that require good investigative skills!
But at least I have a job. Scottie and Miss Kim are always telling me to be optimistic and that I let the "subjects" inhabit my mind far too much. But I can't help thinking that the "subjects"-the people I write about-were real people and had real lives and leave behind grieving people. Mom always did tell me that I was good with people and genuinely cared about them.
Ah, yes, and Miss Kim. Now there's a character. She has this presence about her that requires respect. Even Harry (who "don't give titles to no one", in his own words) calls her "Miss Kim". She is a prim and proper, but very very efficient woman. She handles phone calls, mail, correspondence, and all sorts of things. She also brings a change of clothes to work and stocks up aspirin and protein bars enough for the whole office. We joke that she is our "mama" because whenever we need something, there is a 99.9% chance that she has it.
Well, I'm tired enough now to go to sleep. All this time that I haven't been writing in you, I have been reading books that Miss Kim gave me. They're so dry and dull that I go to sleep quite quickly. But after Ellington today, I needed someplace to vent.
And it's not fun to walk around the block here-far too many apartments and late-night partiers.
