She awoke in her bed on Oakcrest Street.  She had a headache and was disoriented and might have started getting dressed for school had it not been for the golden triangle pendant sitting there, between her breasts, staring up with an accusatory eye.  Why hadn't she said something?  What had it mattered that she'd only been wearing a towel?  A man's life had literally hung in the balance and her first thoughts were for modesty.  What did that say about her?  She slid to the end of the bed, careful not to disturb Miss Feathers, and dry washed her face.  It had been a long time since she had a hangover.  But not so long that she had forgotten the cure for it.  

She depressed the accusing eye and within seconds Sylvia arrived, with a tray of juice, coffee, the...

Please subscribe to keep reading.