A puzzled frown flitted across Stuart Demone’s face. “What?”

“What?” I congratulated myself on the dodgy comeback and busied myself with putting my boot back on. When I looked back again, he’d gone to place his order. It seemed perfect timing to make my exit. But one look outside at sleet still falling changed my plan. It was an uncomfortable situation, but I chose boots over comfort. I was determined to save them. Plus, it had grown plenty chill and I was without a warm coat, considering it had been a lovely day when I left for work. Perhaps I could find a table out of his sight until the weather cleared.

I ordered a turtle latte and a cinnamon scone. I might as well have something enjoyable to come to my aide during this awkward situation. Consoling myself with the thought that maybe I wouldn’t have to stay out of his sight if Stuart Demone left once he had his coffee, I perused the menu on the back wall. The server was quick, and presented me with my order in a few minutes.

To my dismay, Ground Zero had grown quite popular just now and, as my eyes roamed for a place to sit, they landed on the one empty chair in the entire room. Stuart Demone motioned for me to sit across from him. I stifled a sigh and tried for a friendly smile instead. As I made my way over, I wondered who he had killed, where he had hidden the body, and how long it would take for autolysis. (It appeared Polly was more of an influence on me than I’d realized. After all, maybe he had a dead pet fish he was wondering about rather than flushing it down the toilet.)

To my chagrin, Mr. Demone wasted no time.

“Funny,” he said, “I thought you said autolysis when you saw me.”

“I . . .” I searched my brain for something that rhymed with it so I could claim he’d misunderstood me and could only come up with ‘paralysis’. No help.

“Actually, I am doing a little research in the area.”

I nearly choked on my scone.

“It’s quite interesting, really.”

He suddenly sounded like a professor.

“Is it?”

“Why yes!”

His speech quickened, but I have to admit, I didn’t miss a thing.

By the time he had taken me on a journey of the Egyptian pyramids clear over to the ones in Alaska (Alaska??), described estivation (it’s hibernation for worms – I know, right? Clearly he didn’t need a book about worms and my original excuse for following him would’ve fallen flat.) and delved into some history I’d never read, much less heard of or thought of, I was done with my latte and on my second scone.

Stuart Demone suddenly looked at his watch.

“Why look at the time! I must pick up my car. It needed new tires.”

Looking across the table at Mr. Demone, I thought to myself I’d never met a more curious person in my life.

to be continued . . .

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